More Than One Way to Live Forever
by Sleepy Lotus
Summary: Five years after AWE, a new evil has come to the Caribbean. Elizabeth finds herself once again teamed with Jack in a new adventure, struggling to save her husband's heart, and come to terms with the truths deep within her own. JEness abound!
1. The Fall of Puerto Moreas

-1**A/N: Let's see...this is what happens when I have lots of time to read and write on my hands. ****I present to you the product of my reading Stoker's Dracula while backpacking in India, and being really f-ing disappointed with the Jack/Liz interaction after seeing POTC III in Hong Kong... Puerto Moreas is totally made up, I did no research there...and I only approximated the date, the main story being a couple years before an earthquake destroyed Port Royal. J/Eness abound, and enjoy me hearties!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't make money off 'em, just write about 'em.**

**IIIIII**

**Prologue: **

**1580: Caracas**

The disheveled sailor stood before Don Francisco de Gama, seeming entirely out of place in the lavish settings of the grand study. The new world had treated de Gama's fortunes well, there was plenty of gold and labor to be plundered from the native heathens, and the cacao crop seemed to improve with every year. The sailor seemed uneasy; the Don did not have the best reputation for compassion and understanding. A messenger bearing bad news could have much to fear within these walls.

The sailor was just that.

Jose Barranco's clothes were even more tattered than the usual maritime state of intense use; indeed it looked as though the sea had swallowed him up and spit him out, merely hours ago, and delivered him to the doorstep of Don de Gama. "What is it?" asked the Don impatiently.

This salt stank to high heavens, and de Gama didn't want the stench to linger in the room. His wife would arrive soon. A lady of breeding, she was sensitive to such details, and would make her discomfort immediately known to him, to the very last detail. She was a force of nature in her own right, and would tolerate close to nothing that disagreed with her.

But she tolerated him, more than tolerated him. He'd gone through what seemed like the seven labors of Hercules, winning her hand, and their married life had never been smooth, placid, uneventful. Always, it had been filled with fits and fights from hell, and sweet sojourns to the clouds of heaven. Very rarely was there anything in between for him. He assumed the same was true for her. What would time and distance have done to them? He would find out, soon. She was due to arrive aboard _La Esperanza _any month now. Soon they would be reunited. He could barely contain his excitement, his composure, among his servants and soldiers.

Dimly lit, shadows swallowed the corners of the room and swathed the sailor Jose in heavy shadow. Still, Don de Gama could see something close to a grimace ply across his face. "I was a sailor aboard _La Esperanza, _Don de Gama."

A cold feeling of premonition suddenly shot down through the trunk of Francisco's body, shattered in his stomach and fanned out to numb his fingers and toes with icy tingles. Dread gripped him, nearly strangling. "_Si? _And?"

"I am sorry, Don de Gama. My Lord. But I am the only survivor. The ship went down in a storm, and the sea swallowed her whole."

Francisco blinked, unable to discern if _she _referred to _La Esperanza, _or solely, his wife. His beloved Isabella. If what this man claimed was true, then it didn't matter. Grief clenched his heart; for a moment Francisco felt as though he could not breathe, could not think. Could not live. Although the room was dim, he still turned towards the star-speckled windows, hiding his deeply pained expression. Could it really be true? His Isabella, his terrible and wonderful _Dona_, gone forever?

Absently, he felt his front top teeth with his tongue, nearly drawing blood. As of recent, he had found this world contained many unexplainable, fantastic and horrible phenomenon. Anything was possible in some way, it seemed. And so he vowed at that moment, if he ever found the chance to bring her back, he would not hesitate to do everything within his power to do so.

Don de Gama had nearly forgotten the sailor stinking up his study, until Jose interrupted his long quiet contemplation. "I am sorry, Don de Gama, truly."

Francisco's attention snapped to Jose, and the poor sailor's immediate reaction was to take a fearful step backwards in retreat. Had the Don's eyes truly just flashed like lightning? No, impossible, surely some trick of the light. Francisco felt his grief shift slightly within him, the dagger twisting a bit, shifting pain to a disdainful resentment. "And how is it you are the only survivor, my good man?" asked Don de Gama, voice sharp as broken glass.

The salt flinched inwardly at the Don's question; he did not think _God is merciful _or even _I'm a lucky man _would satisfy the Don's bitter curiosity. "I..." He stopped to peer at the Don, who had taken another step closer. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He could have sworn, that as the Don opened his mouth to speak he could glimpse two incisors, abnormally sharp, almost like an animal. He needed to go, he needed to collapse in a bed in a cheap dirty inn and not move for the next three days. Hunger, dehydration, scorching sun floating for days on end in the water must have all taken a nasty toll.

"Well?" prompted de Gama. "Tell me your tale, sailor. It must be a miraculous one."

"I..."

Jose found he could not force more words than that past a lump in his throat, caught in the gaze of the Don. Eyes blue and dark as the ocean at dusk caught him, captivated him, blanketed his mind with haze even as cold fear caused his heart to pound. The Don's hands went to his jaw, turning his head aside to expose a stretch of thick sun-leathered neck. Francisco's nose wrinkled with the thought of placing his mouth against that filthy skin, but the blood that called from beneath would be sweet and heavy, strong, and probably taste of the sea.

He would know exactly what had happened to _La Esperanza_, every detail from the sailor's mind and memories, far better than anything the man could tell him. Francisco de Gama preferred to take what he wanted, rather than asking for it, anyways.

**Chapter 1: The Fall of Puerto Moreas**

**1690: Port Royal**

"It's been abnormally quiet this morning, have you noticed?"

Norrington looked up from buttering his toast to see Elizabeth standing at the window, one arm resting casually upon the frame. The morning light flattered her profile, although she did not cut a usual picture, of a maiden looking out at the early doings of the town.

Sweat matted her golden hair at the temples from their morning activity, and it spilled out in a near blinding riot of curls about her shoulders. Her loose white shirt lay a bit far open at the throat for modesty, revealing the layer of wrapping beneath that bound her breasts tight. No full skirt hid her lower half, but trousers and high boots framed her long legs to little imagination and absolute perfection. To a newcomer, the scene would be unusual indeed, but to Norrington it had become something of a routine. And a blessed one at that.

Every morning at seven o'clock, he practiced fencing with Elizabeth. Five years after their run in with Beckette and Davy Jones, he would admit to himself in private thoughts that she was now his equal with a blade. Every morning afterwards they breakfasted together. And every morning after pecking at her food, she stood at the window to look to the sea. She was always looking to the sea. Always.

It was a routine that smacked of a relationship more intimate than they truly shared. But no ring of his encircled Elizabeth's finger. Indeed no ring at all; William had had none to give her before disappearing in a flash of green aboard the Flying Dutchman.

Events five years past had somewhat liberated her from the usual confines of woman's duty, but the prize was only bitter sweet. Beckette's wicked meddling had, in Elizabeth's blunt and bitter phrasing, had "Freed her from the expectation of grandchildren." Fatherless, husband far at sea, and childless, Elizabeth was left to her own devices. Her once girlish laugh, high and glittering like chimes in the wind, now held a considerably more bitter flavor. Despite it all, James suspected she enjoyed her freedom, more than she would ever tell him.

"I can't say I noticed," James confessed. "But I have yet to set foot out of doors."

Elizabeth nodded missively, eyes still transfixed on the window. "Come have a bit more to eat, you're getting too thin," Norrington urged casually.

Her lips curled slightly at his fussing. "You are neither my father nor my husband, James. I'll eat as I like."

Her smile was never quite as sweet as it had once been. She was a shadow of the innocent girl she once was. The wariness left behind by their misadventure showed in her eyes, and her smile.

"I am not," James acknowledged. "Although not because of lack of trying." He teased openly, without self-conscience. Life had changed, the formalities had dropped away. Indeed, life had taken on a whole new flavor for James Norrington entirely. He'd been given another chance at life, as it were, spat from the very jaws of death itself and washed up ashore on the beach of Port Royal. He could not remember any details of his salvation, all was gray in his normally precise military memory.

Elizabeth suspected, nigh nearly knew, it must have been Will granting a favor. A blessing. James had died to save her, after all. It was a feat she could understand the ferryman breaking the rules to reward. Not that she knew the rules, or even pretended to understand them. That would be an utter exercise in futility, she'd learned.

James still retained his title of Commodore, though he did not regard life through the same rigid glasses he once wore. There were no squares in nature, only circles, curves, organic shapes and ragged edges. Where certain others only seemed to fear the coming of death more, after experiencing it once and coming back, James found it a freeing experience. He felt as though he knew something of what inevitably waited on the other side. It didn't seem unpleasant. No, it didn't seem like much of anything, really. Not something to look forward to, but nor was it something to fear.

"Even if I wasn't already technically married, James, you wouldn't want me for a wife. It would spoil things between us, I think. That would be a shame, because you know you're my last friend in Port Royal."

"Surely you exaggerate."

Elizabeth did not exaggerate. Truly, he was the only one left in Port Royal now that she cared a fig about. She could still remember the joy welling in her breast, upon elbowing through the crowd ashore, gawking at something that had washed up on the beach five years ago. There lay James on the sand, soaked and disheveled, but miraculously alive, and breathing. Her face was the first thing he saw, opening his eyes after being granted the gift of life once again. Tears in her own eyes, the sun had shone behind her head, blinding as a halo. He'd never witnessed a more beautiful sight to him. Never.

She laughed bitterly, her disdain for the vicious society of the town plainly evident in her voice. "You know what they whisper as I walk past. No one wants to associate with the likes of me." All the better for her, as far as she was concerned.

True, some vicious gossip did circulate about Miss Swann cum Mrs. Turner. James conjectured she brought part of it upon herself though, by choosing to go about in her trousers and boots on a daily basis, that tricorn hat perched carelessly upon her head. It smacked a bit of a certain pirate they both knew.

"If I was a pirate's whore," Elizabeth muttered under her breath, "Then I wouldn't be stuck here on land, would I?" James pretended not to hear, but couldn't control a slight twitch of eyebrow. Despite what the townies were convinced of, he knew her to be no such thing. Though her fascination with that pirate Sparrow...yes, it certainly remained. She could not hide it, though she tried, burying it deep inside her. The taste of adventure and freedom, battle on the high seas left her a branded woman. Forever changed.

She had come a long way from being that pampered governor's daughter. Waited upon hand and foot, always a maid to clean up after her. She'd inherited her father's fortune, though instead of taking up residence in her former _style de vie_, she'd moved outside of town, up to a little cottage built on the bluff, overlooking the endless sea. No more servants now; she washed her own clothes, cooked her own food, cleaned her own rooms. Lived by the power in her own hands, and she preferred it that way now. The size of her new house resembled something of a ship's cabin, and Norrington suspected it was no accident.

An unexpected knock came at the door. "Enter," called Norrington, and was surprised to find one of his soldiers, escorting a priest. "Sir, forgive my intrusion sir, but there's a man here I think you should speak with."

Curiosity piqued, Norrington waved them both farther into the room. "Yes?"

A small dark man entered, dressed in a black cassock. His hair was dark and cut short to the skull, two surprised streaks of silver glinting out of his raven hair. "I am Padre Sanchez, from Puerto Moreas," said the priest, stepping forward. He seemed normal enough, until on second inspection, Norrington noticed dried blood on his white collar. "I have made the journey here rather painstakingly, but I bear important news, that I'm afraid will not bode well."

**IIIIIIIIII**

"You must forgive me for instinctually feeling some doubt," said Norrington, as the father finished his ghastly tale. "You tell a horrific story, and so strange. Fanged demons with the strength of twenty men?"

"You are forgiven, of course," said the padre, stirring sugar into a cup of tea. "Anyone would and should have such a reaction to my story. But do not just take me for my word, I implore you investigate the damages yourself. You wouldn't even need a map to find it, I'm afraid. The vultures circling above Puerto Moreas blacken the sky; a beacon of death seen from miles around."

"Everyone in the town, massacred?" questioned Elizabeth with alarm. "You are truly the only survivor?" the tale seemed far fetched, and yet Elizabeth knew what supernatural horrors, and miracles, were possible across the seven seas.

"_Verdad_," confirmed the Padre. There was a tremble in his hand as he picked up his cup. With a sigh, he set down the teacup and waited for the tremor to pass, crossing himself and saying a short prayer under his breath. "It seemed these things could not enter my church, could not set foot upon consecrated ground. I can still hear the screams from outside," he explained. "There was such complete silence, before they came. And also, when they left. Will you come, Commodore? Perhaps you can find some evidence to follow these brigands; this tragedy could befall Port Royal as easily as it did Puerto Moreas."

Solemnly, Norrington nodded. "I will come with my men," he agreed. "If you care to wait at the dock, I would request you come with us."

"Of course," agreed the Padre, standing. "_Gracias_, Commodore." he said. "And God bless you."

As soon as the Padre and marine left the room, Norrington turned to Elizabeth. Before she could even open her mouth to speak, he anticipated her. "Absolutely not. You will stay here."

She took his ultimatum more willingly than he expected. Nay, it was almost unnerving, how easily she accepted.

"As you wish, James. Safe journey." He raised his eyebrows, suspicious. He would be double checking the cargo hold, before leaving.

Reaching out, he brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. Perhaps he did not fear death for himself anymore, but still the thought of Elizabeth coming to any harm terrified him. She smiled that sorrowful curl of lips, but made to retreat from the room before his urge to kiss her could grow too strong to ignore.


	2. Flight of the Swann

-1**a/n: Hello all! Thanks for the feedback, and it sounds like there's a reasonable interest in the vampire theme, which excites me to no end, because I've been writing about vampires years before pirates ever came to my shores...well, on with the fic!**

**Chapter 2: Flight of the Swann**

Elizabeth knew Norrington would be checking the cargo hold extra thoroughly, it bought her a bit of time. She packed some essential things and provisions hastily in a ruck sack. Once upon a time, she would have tried to stow away. But with a bit of good fortune and a disposable income in her purse, of which she hardly spent any of on her newly acquired and comparatively Spartan lifestyle, Elizabeth Swann found herself to be a bit more mobile these days.

The Swan's Freedom II was a well kept secret tucked away in a cove on the other side of the island. She was a small skiff, but sufficient and easily manned, or womanned, as the case may be, by a solo sailor. It was once a fishing rig, and still smelled as such when the wind didn't blow hard enough to spirit the scent away. It wasn't suitable for longer voyages, but suited her down to her boots for bobbing about the waves when she felt she needed to get out on the water. That happened quite often, really. And the skiff certainly would do well enough for a day trip to Puerto Moreas.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

The silence was the first eerie feature of the island that struck Elizabeth. It was similar to the quiet settled over Port Royal that morning, only far more sinister, as though nature had simply ceased to be. The second, as she neared closer the town, was the stench. If the Padre was correct, then more than one hundred bodies left to the merciless Caribbean sun made up the bouquet of Puerto Moreas that late afternoon.

"Jesus God," she hissed to herself, walking through to streets. It was the stuff of nightmares, never in all her adventures had she witnessed a scene so ghastly. Bodies littered the streets, the buildings, hung out of windows and lay tossed discarded in the shrubbery. She held a handkerchief over her nose to filter the smell, which left nothing to tend the tears in her eyes. There were children among the dead. Many children, tossed about to land like rag dolls, broken and alone.

"There's no blood," she heard someone exclaim around the corner. "All these bodies, but no blood! Where did it all go?"

It was a strange but true observation. Vultures circled, buildings lay charred. But no blood stained them.

"I don't know," answered a voice Elizabeth recognized as belonging to Norrington. Quickly, she ducked behind a building, listening as the navy men passed.

"My God. My God. My God." someone muttered over and over.

"They drank it," said the Padre. "They drank the blood, I saw it with my own two eyes. The lord sayeth _The blood is the life, _but these were no creatures of god."

Elizabeth noticed on one of the bodies two curious puncture wounds. Was that where the blood was drawn from? As she made a further inspection, she found every corpse to at least have one set of such wounds, and some as many as three or four. What were these weird creatures? How could they be stopped? All the bodies on the ground were human; it seemed not one enemy had fallen in the fray.

She had no idea, and no book in her library spoke of such things. But not everything is written in books. Some knowledge is left to the darkness, and those who have walked in it. One person came to mind who might know what to do, or who could at least help her find out.

"Bloody hell," she cursed under her breath. She hated thinking about him, those kohl lined eyes, dark as obsidian, mysterious and sharp. And a mouth, so soft and clever, a full classical shape of which had no business on the face of a pirate. The way the corners of that mouth could curl, in the most infuriating and incensing smile, staring at which she could never decide what she wanted more: to slap it or kiss it.

Well, she only thought of him because she was lonely. Because she missed Will. _Keep telling' yourself that, darlin._

Even when he wasn't present, he still argued with her, vexed her to no end. It simply wasn't fair. With a groan, she pushed thoughts of Jack out of her mind. Elizabeth shook her head, focusing on the task at hand.

A more recently acquired nervous gesture, she fingered the small charm that hung from a lock of her hair. Even that echoed of _him, _though in her defense she would say it was simply the best place she could think of to store the valuable piece of shiny. No one would think to look for it in her hair, hidden unobtrusively beneath a mane nearly the same color...

Well, she didn't need _that_ pirate specifically. She just needed someone, anyone, with a bit more experience with the supernatural. Someone willing to believe in the nasties of the night and the deep; even better, someone who lived to tell the tale. In a word, she simply needed _pirates_. And that meant visiting one port of dubious reputation: Tortuga.


	3. Ghosts of the Past

-1**A/n: a very long chapter, for those of you disappointed by the length of the previous. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 3: Ghosts of the Past**

Most days, Jack Sparrow had no trouble forgetting her. There was work to be done, ships to be pillaged, plenty of pretty ladies of the night to occupy his time and satisfy his appetites and fancies. Things were _practically_ normal. Normal as normal can be, for Jack Sparrow, at any rate.

But on some nights, it wasn't so easy. The days were his, but his sleeping hours somehow seemed to have slipped into _her _possession. He would wake beaded with sweat and so certain that if he reached over, he would find her soft skin beneath his fingertips, her curvaceous form lying on his berth next to him.

It was a curse he'd never bargained for. Sometimes halfway through a bottle of good Caribbean rum, dark and warm and heady, he would see her, just out the corner of his eyes. A flash of golden hair, the perfect curve of jaw line or a nearly too pertly curled up nose.

So on that particular night, sitting at a rickety table in his favorite Tortuga tavern, he wasn't terribly alarmed to catch sight of the woman advancing towards him with a confident stride, sword on her hip, hat perched jauntily atop that pretty head. But imagine the pirate's surprise when the vision kicked out a chair, and plunked down beside him, even said, "Hello Jack."

Jack blinked, looked to his bottle clasped loosely in his hand, muttering to himself, "This is stronger stuff than I thought."

She frowned as he reached out to flick her arm resting upon the table, and when his fingers didn't pass easily through her flesh as he'd hoped, he had the urge to run. "What?"

The vision spoke, and he jumped, eyes wide and surprised, realizing this was not one of his now seemingly frequent hallucinations. It was real. It was _her, _here in the flesh, sitting across from him.

Bugger.

Instantly defenses and walls of all manners raised, as Jack nonchalantly sat back farther in his chair, crossing his arms. That twin braided chin jutted out haughtily, eyes suddenly boring into her mercilessly. "Well well, if it ain't Elizabeth Swann, gracing us with her golden presence once again."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. The greeting was more asinine than she'd hoped, but in truth she didn't really know what to expect. In truth, she didn't think she would be lucky enough to find Jack in Tortuga. It was a stroke of luck, if the definition of luck may be used liberally. "It's still Elizabeth Turner, if you recall," she replied curtly, falling into her usual habit of interaction with the pirate. "And Mrs. Turner to _you_."

Jack smiled a wolfish grin. "And it's Captain Sparrow to _you_, luv. To what do I owe this great pleasure?"

Elizabeth glanced around. The bar was a den of turmoil, rowdy drunken men and ladies of the night. Was there anyone else she could possibly ask? Anyone she knew? Anyone she trusted, even a smidgen? Not at all, it seemed. "I need your help," she answered frankly.

At hearing the answer, Jack grimaced and stood from the table. "I was afraid of that."

Elizabeth watched, a bit alarmed, but mostly annoyed, as Jack began to walk away from her. Doggedly she followed. "Have you heard about Puerto Moreas yet?" she questioned, ducking under a stray bar mug and attached tattooed arm being waved wildly.

"Lovely little Spanish port. I particularly recommend the church's wine, I had a boatload impersonating a man of the cloth. What about it?"

Unfazed by the cleric remark, Elizabeth went on, "Well, its not there anymore. The whole town was massacred, save one man. The priest, ironically."

"Can't trust em, they're a wily lot. Went on a rampage, did 'e?" Elizabeth had followed him up the stairs, and by that time they stood at Jack's door, he inserting the key into the lock.

"I doubt it. He described the attackers as being blood sucking demons. After seeing the bodies, I believe him." She stepped into the room with him, and he paid her a haughty glare.

"Bully for you." Jack slammed the door and bolted it shut.

"Jack, would you listen!?"

Suddenly Elizabeth found herself pushed up against the door, pinned by two wiry arms on either side of her. "What do you want from me?" Jack snarled. Barely inches separated them, a fact that neither of them seemed to fail to notice. The force of hitting the door had stolen her breath, and as she inhaled a deeply to regain it, her breasts nearly grazed his chest, embarrassingly causing her heart pound against her ribcage.

Angry at herself for being so easily distracted by his mere proximity, and at him for making it as such, she spat out, "I want your expertise. Surely you know something, you've seen _everything_. What they could be? How do we kill them?"

"Why don't you just use a kraken? You're good at that."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed at the pirate. It didn't hardly seem fair to hurl such antiquated grievances. Well, she did _kill _him. Perhaps it was entirely fair. Perhaps she even deserved it, a little. "Jack."

He took a shuddering breath, trying to pretend standing so close to her wasn't affecting him in some way or manner. Wasn't making him think about the lumpy bed oh-so-conveniently placed in the corner of the ramshackle room. "What's in it for me?" he finally asked, voice husky.

The low sound of his voice alarmed Elizabeth. It tugged at things, deep in her gut. Things that her husband and her husband alone should have claim over. But her husband was a world away, quite literally...oh bloody hell. Did he know what he did to her? She suspected it was quite a possibility. Fighting to not succumb to the weakness she felt in her knees, she hissed, "Of course, doing a good deed wouldn't be enough. You want me to pay you? I will, if that's all that matters to you."

Jack smirked, glancing up and down, taking his time about taking her in. That one lecherous look sent the heat of a blush blooming a fiery red up her neck and cheeks. "Pay me with what?"

With a glare, Elizabeth replied, "Gold. You still have a weakness for shiny things, don't you?"

Jack found himself distractedly fingering a lock of Elizabeth's hair. "That I do, luv. That I do."

Trying to hide the butterflies she felt in her stomach, fearing Jack would see the weakness in her eyes, she shoved him away. "Scoundrel," she grumbled under her breath.

"_Pirate_, darlin'" he corrected her. "So how did you get here? Stow away, as per usual?"

"I've my own vessel now, actually. The Swann's Freedom. The Second. She's a small skiff though, I'm afraid she's not up to long voyages."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "You'd be surprised what you can do with a little bit of floating driftwood, luv... What happened to the Swann's Freedom the First?"

Elizabeth smiled sheepishly, eyes to the tips of her boots. "Beginner's accident..."

"Remind me to never let you steer."

She looked back up to Jack, a bewitching smile curled on her lips. Poison to honey in two seconds flat. Ye Gods it could kill a man. "Come on now, Captain, let's be fair. You've lost two ships thus far, and I've only lost one."

"Er--Well, _Captain_ Swann, when you've sailed as long as me and STILL have only lost one, we'll see then."

"I--" Elizabeth's reply was interrupted by an awful scream. It wasn't the joyous sound of play, as could usually be heard by the ladies down below, but a cry of pure terror loud enough to rise above the din of the nightlife of Tortuga. Both Elizabeth and Jack rushed to the window to look down below. What met their eyes was a disconcerting sight.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

"You've got some strange kind of pets down there," said Ritchie Anderson, the Tortuga dockman, peering down into the dark murky water below the Tortuga docks. There was a full moon shining up above, and one could clearly see the small triangular dorsal fins circling in the water.

The man smiling down at them was a stranger to Ritchie, although in Tortuga that was little cause for suspicion. There was something queer about the man though. He was handsome enough, tall, dressed like a prince in a crimson silk vest and a black ribbon holding back his blond hair. But when he smiled, the old dockman could have swore the teeth that flashed in the moonlight were a bit sharper than what was natural.

Looking down at the circling sharks, the stranger said, "They are but the smaller babes who hunt the shallows, but they bring me great pleasure. Come, my friend, come look. Do not be afraid." A Spaniard, by the sound of his accent.

Something about this man was right strange, but still Ritchie went to his side, curious. "Tell me, do any of these vessels here belong to the pirate Jack Sparrow?"

The dockman shrugged. Jack Sparrow was an illusive character, it was difficult to keep track of his comings and goings. "Not that I know of. Why are they circling here like that?" he asked, turning back to the sharks. "Are you feeding them?"

The stranger put a friendly arm around his shoulders. "No no," he answered. "They come here because I called them. Because they are mine."

The dockman raised a scraggly eyebrow, turning to look at the stranger. Suddenly he found himself pulled against the Spaniard's chest, unbelievably strong arms holding him immobile. He felt a sharp, painful prick in his neck, but found he could not scream. "Be still," demanded a voice in his head. Richie obeyed, his last coherent action.

No one noticed when the body of Ritchie Anderson splashed into the water, to quickly be torn into by the circling sharks below. "Take the flesh, my darlings, I have no use for it." A loud scream drew the Spaniard's attention up to the town. It had begun.

Not all of his brethren had learned to quiet the victim's mind before taking them, as he had. The skill was useful for stealth's sake, but he supposed it didn't matter now. Tonight, Tortuga belonged to them.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

"Your friends?" asked Jack, looking down at the chaos below. It was a mad riot, maybe even a normal sight for the streets of the pirate port. But on this occasion they were not fighting for a strumpet or a piece of shiny; they fought for their lives. And by the looks of things, they were losing. Badly.

"Hardly." Elizabeth gripped the hilt of her sword, hard enough for knuckles to go white. Fear was a cold hard lump in the pit of her stomach.

"I think beatin' a hasty retreat is in order, how bout you?" Not waiting for her answer, Jack grabbed Elizabeth's hand, tugging her towards the door. Swords drawn, they descended down into the mess of the tavern, making their way virtually unnoticed through the fray.

It wasn't until they hit the street and rushed quite a ways that they met with some trouble. There in the middle of the road lay two figures, one prostrated beneath the other. As they approached the one on top looked up from his victim, like a lion crouched over the kill, and bared his teeth in an inhuman snarl. Both Jack and Elizabeth froze, taken aback by the thing's bloodstained mouth.

Without hesitation, that thing sprang forward, heading straight for the foremost between the two humans: Jack. And just as unhesitant, Jack slashed out with his sword, catching the thing in the throat with his blade. With a cry of rage muted to a sickening gurgle, its vocal chords severed, the monster fell aside to the ground, writhing. It did not die, but seemed incapacitated. Unwilling to stick around and see what happened next, the two fled the scene, heading for the docks.

"What are they?!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"I'm going to go out on a limb, as we are in the discombobulating heat of a battle, and say I think they're vampires. Where's your--"

Jack was interrupted, one of the bloodsucking beasties that looked oh so deceptively like a man came out of no where, moving faster than the human eye could follow. He tackled Jack, sending them both careening into a wall.

"Jack!" As Elizabeth rushed to his aid, she suddenly found she herself airborne, two arms like iron around her waist. And then nothing, as the thing tossed her away, allowing her to freefall. She waited for the hard and unforgiving ground to reclaim her, but was surprised to feel herself crash through the window of a second story. Not exactly an improvement.

She landed on the floor with a thud, broken glass raining down on her, and cutting into her skin from beneath. The wind knocked out of her, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to push to her feet, although her body protested greatly. Somewhere along the line of being a human tennis ball, she'd lost her sword.

A tingling at the base of her neck told Elizabeth she was no longer alone in the little room she'd landed in. The door still remained closed; she looked to the window to see one of the creatures crouched, ready to spring. She scrambled for the knife in her boot, all the while waiting for the weight of the thing to take them to the floor. She heard its vicious hiss as it launched, but the pain never came.

Another of them had entered the room, and was calmly holding her first attacker at bay by the throat. "This one is mine," he decreed, shoving the vampire towards the window. It appeared Elizabeth had been saved, but for how long and for what purpose, she didn't know.

Gripping her boot knife, holding it unobtrusively at her side, Elizabeth began to inch towards the door. "Ah ah," said the newcomer, making a waving gesture. The door slammed shut obediently, the lock clicking into place. She watched, wide eyed, as the vampire looked to her hungrily, the way snakes do little mice, with eyes as deep blue as the finest of sapphires. "You wouldn't leave without a proper introduction, would you? How unladylike."

His voice was cultured, though accented. Spain, most likely, she deduced.

"Not an original accusation, I assure you. Perhaps you should start with yourself." Her voice sounded far more collected than she felt. She felt as though her heart might escape from her chest at any moment, furious pounding fueled by adrenaline and fear.

The vampire gave a brilliant smile, displaying quite openly both of his elongated and sharp incisors. He held himself as a nobleman, dressed in black trousers, freshly shined black boots encased his leg to the knee, and a silk vest of blood red crimson over his black shirt. Hair a few shades lighter than hers was pulled back in a ponytail, leaving a handsome face, square jaw and precisely trimmed beard unobscurred to view. "But of course, as my lady wishes. I am Don Francisco de Gama, at your service," he said with a flourishing bow. "And you are?"

"Captain Elizabeth Swann." She neglected to give her true married name on impulse, and could not resist the chance to introduce herself as a captain. She didn't get the chance often, and the word felt so _good _rolling off her tongue.

"Ah, a swan? How perfectly telling." He took a step closer, and her grip tightened on her dagger. "Now, you surely wouldn't use that on me?" he asked playfully, with a toothy smile. "We are friends now, are we not?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that."

Moving at a speed too fast to follow with mere human eyes, the vampire suddenly was upon Elizabeth, backing her into the wall, one hand gripping hers that held the blade. She fought to hold on, but caved in the end. His strength was far too great for her to withstand. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

"Much better." She glared at him, and felt herself being pulled into his eyes, feeling as though the room was slowly spinning, the floor dropping out from beneath her. Realizing he was hypnotizing her, she fought to look away. No easy feat. His eyes were such a dark blue they were nearly black, like the ocean in twilight. _Do not fight me_ whispered a voice in her head. _Look into my eyes._

In defiance, she closed hers tight. "No," she whimpered. She felt her hands being raised up above her head, pinned by one of his. A gentle finger stroked her cheek, her jaw line, ever so lightly. _Look at me_ coaxed the voice. _Open your eyes_. It surprised her, how her eyes began to open of their own accord, and how she had to fight to keep them closed.

"Very well," he said softly, hand moving down to the collar of her shirt, pulling it down to reveal an expanse of long neck. "You will feel everything then."

Her heart thundered in her chest as she felt him move down, his warm breath against her neck, then soft lips. She opened her eyes to see his golden head bending over her, and felt the first brush of hard teeth. It could have been an erotic experience, were she not afraid for her life.

Suddenly, there was a violent banging on the door, interrupting the pseudo-peace of the second story room. Francisco raised his head to glare at the door, and gave a quiet hiss, baring his fangs. "He will be too late," he said, and noticed Elizabeth's eyes were open. Before she could close them again, he caught her with his gaze. She felt a tingling at the base of her neck, and found that this time, she couldn't look away. "No," she protested, voice barely able to whisper.

"_Si, si, si_," he whispered. "It is best this way, my lady. No pain." She felt herself being pulled under dark water. Even while the banging at the door became more urgent, Francisco ignored it, until there was a gunshot, and the door kicked open. Jack burst into the room, holding a smoking pistol in one hand, and his cutlass in the other, stained dark with blood.

The vampire was at a momentary loss for what to do, like a dog with a bone, he didn't want to release his latest meal to meet his attacker. Jack took advantage of the pause, leaping across the room for the single burning lantern. As the vampire finally moved to stop him, Jack hurled it against Francisco, covering him in oil and subsequently, flames.

As the broiling monster flailed and shrieked angrily, Jack scooped Elizabeth up from the floor where she'd slid with one arm, urging her on. They raced out, leaving the screams of rage of the vampire behind them, only stopping to pick up Elizabeth's sword left to lay in the street.

Elizabeth felt in a daze, as though she'd just been woken from a deep sleep. The world seemed fuzzy and distant, she felt grateful for Jack's guiding hand on her arm, something solid to hold on to in her dreamlike state. They wove through narrow alleys, Jack seemed to know all the back ways as well as he knew his own ship. "Where's your skiff, luv?" he asked as they reached the docks.

"Towards the end, farthest away," she answered absently. "Why aren't we going to the Pearl?"

"Don't have it," he answered tersely. Quickly they were astride the docks, and Jack found the skiff that could be none other than the Swann's Freedom II. He pushed her up as he watched behind them for unwelcome followers. It seemed most of the chaos had kept to the main square of town, leaving the waterfront eerily still amidst the screams in the distance.

Once safely on the Freedom, Elizabeth found herself deposited on the deck, leaning against the mainsail, while Jack scrambled around the skiff, readying it to sail. Seemingly in no time at all they were drifting away from the dock, away from Tortuga, the burning buildings and screams. The dizzy feeling washed over her again, and she slid down the mast to sit on the deck. What was wrong with her?

The further they drifted, as more time passed, she felt her head clearing, as though a fog were being lifted from around her head. All tasks of the launch completed and a rough course set, she found herself being inspected from head to toe. "You came back for me," she sighed, suddenly struck with disbelief as she felt the faculty for speech return.

"Yes, luv, I came back for you," he said quietly, pulling aside the collar of her shirt to inspect her neck. His warm firm fingers felt nice on her skin, and he was visibly relieved to find her free of bite marks.

Yet another wave of wooziness came over her. Were she not already sitting, she would have been taken to the deck. "The lantern," she said dreamily. "How did you know fire..."

Jack took one of her arms in his hand, of which still had some glass embedded in it. "Not a beastie I've ever encountered appreciates being set on fire," he said. "An educated but lucky guess." When picking at the glass with his fingers was unsuccessful, he resorted to using his teeth as tweezers. She watched passively, somewhat enjoying this strange form of intimacy.

"He was in my head," she said, recounting the experience just passed. "In my mind. He took me over, and I felt like I was drowning again. I still feel as though I haven't quite made it to the surface yet, as though my brain is lacking oxygen."

Jack pulled a large piece of glass from her arm, spitting it out into some dark corner of the deck. She was somewhat grateful for the pain, it helped clear her mind more. "Hypnotization of some sort, probably. He tried it on me too."

"What? When?" She was puzzled.

"Bout a month back."

"What?!"

Elizabeth did not expect this. Not at all. He'd already known about this Francisco? Already met him face to face? Knew about these vampires terrorizing the Caribbean, and had done nothing about it? Of course, what was he supposed to do? What _could _one do, against creatures like _that. _

"See, luv, it seems he's after me for some reason or another. Hard to keep track of who wants what from ol' Jack Sparrow these days. Always something', it seems."

"So you've met before?"

"Aye. I wasn't quite as lucky as you, really. He nipped me neck a bit before I managed to escape. Still have something of a scar." He touched the brown skin at the base of his neck, and true enough there was a set of fresh pink scratches at his neck.

She reached out to touch the slick pink skin, but he caught her hand before fingers could make contact, an unidentifiable look in those dark eyes. "So in the light of the nasty Francisco finding me once again, I have decided to aid you in your quest of search and destroy. For entirely selfish reasons. Don't want you to get any ideas in your head about me turning over a new leaf, turning into a good man and whatnot. Savvy?"

Elizabeth smiled lazily. "I wouldn't expect you to act in anyway that was less than self serving, don't worry."

"Good. You know--"Suddenly, a blur of motion swept down from the sky, barreling into Jack, and taking them to the deck.

"Jack!" Elizabeth screamed, watching in horror as the demon and pirate captain rolled about the floor, Jack struggling to keep gleaming fangs from his throat. She looked about frantically for some instrument of violence, and the best she found was an old broken pike lying neglected against the side of the ship. She seized the shortened spear, and saw that the creature had gained the upper hand, pinning Jack to the deck and bearing down upon him. With a cry of rage she ran forward, driving the pike into the creature's back with all her strength. The thing shuddered, and Jack watched wide eyed as it fell off to the side of him, and with a horrible shudder lay still.

Rolling away and standing quickly, Jack brushed himself off with an expression of disgust. And then they watched with morbid amazement, as the thing seemed to shrink upon itself, the skin tightening against the bones as though all tissue underneath was losing its moisture.

Elizabeth poked at it with the toe of her boot, and when it remained still she kicked it over. Its mouth remained in a permanent snarl, lips pulled back over a pair of menacing sharp fangs. Without looking at Jack, too engrossed by the strange corpse before them, she said, "I believe we're square now, Captain."

"That we are, dearie. That we are."

They stared down at the beastie with morbid fascination, before deciding to toss it overboard. "It must have stowed away somewhere aboard. Can't imagine where though, on such a _dingy _ship as this."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the jab, feeling entirely awake now, the adrenaline from the just recent battle to survive now coursing through her veins. "I wouldn't demean my ship if I were you, _Jack_, as you are seemingly without one entirely. So does this count as you losing three ships? I believe you're _two _ahead of me, now."

Jack paid a sliding glare to the woman. He decided he liked her better when she was acting dreamy, and complacent...and allowing him to put his mouth on her skin without a single protest. Never mind the fact that he was pulling glass out of her skin. The thought of his mouth on Elizabeth's skin made him twitch a bit inside, and not from disgust, as any sane man thinking about a woman who had bloody _killed _him would...

"So how did you lose the Pearl, at any rate?"

The thought of said story instantly pushed Jack into an irritable frame of mind. "Barbossa," was all he would say. And indeed, it was all he really needed to.

Elizabeth nodded, thinking Barbossa would have another bullet in his chest coming to him, next Jack had the chance. "You're hurt." she said, gesturing towards his arm. "Let me help you." As she reached for his arm, he jumped away, as though her touch might burn him. More than she knew.

"No need, just a scratch," he assured her gruffly.

"Take off your shirt and let me see," she insisted. She didn't want Jack to bleed to death for something as silly as modesty. Well, maybe not exactly modesty, in the pirate's case. Maybe more close to the truth was fear. Of temptation.

Jack, in his inherent to be contrary nature, instead pulled a flask from his belt of a thousand effects, and took a swig. "If you're so anxious to get me shirt off, why don't you come over here and do the job yourself?" he taunted.

Then, ignoring her best he could, he ducked into her cabin, where he hoped to find some manner of a mirror, that any proper lady should keep in her quarters. As he walked in and looked around, he found himself to be disappointed. Apparently Elizabeth was no longer a proper lady.

Sitting the flask down on the table, Jack stripped off his coat and shirt, craning his neck to assess the scratches on his back. From what he could see, they were already beginning to close, quite nicely.

"Just let yourself in, why don't you?" said Eizabeth, ducking through the door herself much later than Jack expected. Snatching up a rag from the table, she dipped it in a basin, and made to begin cleaning his wounds. Jack watched her hands, eyes wide with alarm. He didn't want her to touch him, because he'd worked far too hard to forget them, just to be reminded again. But she did not know this, and he surely could not tell her. Would not tell her. Did she know she'd been with him, everywhere, from Zanzibar to the far shores of the Japans?

Jumping out of reach, staring at Elizabeth from across the small table, Jack quickly excused, "As much as I am touched by your concern about harm done to my person, that's really not necessary. Truly."

Eyeing Jack suspiciously, she tossed down the rag with a wet _slap. _And eyes never leaving his, she reached to uncork the flask he'd left on the table, making to take a swig herself. It had been a rough night.

Watching Elizabeth, Jack beheld with much horror the woman raising the bottle to her lips. "Don't!" he cried, scrambling frantically in his animated way to halt the precious liquid's progress to her mouth. He swiped the bottle but some managed to splash out, landing on Elizabeth's arm. She stood completely startled. "Somebody's a bit protective of his rum--"

She then realized that had it been rum, her cuts would be stinging. Jack Sparrow drinking from an innocent carafe of water? Surely not. She sniffed her arm. Smelled like nothing.

And then she noticed something particularly unsettling about the glass wounds on her arm where the water had splashed. Particularly, she didn't notice them at all. They were completely healed, smooth flawless skin, not even the pink of a fresh scar.

"What _is _that stuff?" she demanded. Jack was smiling smugly. He waggled the flask playfully, and took another, very small sip.

"Agua de Vida, luv. Unless you decide you wan tot live forever, best not be swillin' out of me jug."

Elizabeth blinked with surprise. And yet, she found herself no so surprised as one might think. He was Jack, after all. Anything was possible.

She held out her arm in astonishment. "Look, it healed my arm completely. Not even a single scar."

Jack craned his neck to peer at her arm, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "So it did. I didn't know it would do that. My experiments with the stuff are still young, as it were."

"Well, dab a bit more on then, I'll be good as new."

Jack shoved the cork back down in the flask. "What's in it for me? This is precious stuff, you know. Worth far more than its weight in gold, I'd say."

"Surely you have more than just that bottle. It's nearly gone."

"That I do, luv. Not that I'll be tellin' you where, you'd go off and find a way to burn it."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Fine then. I'll just do it the old fashioned way, stick it out and fight off infection, inflammation, and disease. I--" There she went again, gabbing about with that infuriating mouth of hers, spouting all sorts of gripe. He wanted to make her be quiet, and he wanted to accomplish said feat with his mouth over hers.

But that would have been a very _very _bad idea.

So he settled for something a bit more mundane: he gave her what she wanted. As she turned to go Jack clasped her arm, turning her back again. With something of a smoldering smirk he splashed a bit more on her arm, and they both watched the wounds re-knit in amazement.

Fascinated, Jack watched the rivulets of water run down her arms, gathering in drops at her fingertips. _Leave it, mate_, he told himself. Don't start something you don't want. But he _did_ want it. _That _was the problem. Fine, he amended. Something you don't _need_.

He found himself reaching for her hand, and resigned himself to his baser urges. Elizabeth watched with fascination and something like fear, as Jack raised her hand to his mouth, slipping one long finger between his lips. She might have protested, could she have found her voice. As it were, she could only watch wide eyed and open mouthed, as the most delicious sensations ran havoc down her spine. _Not fair, Jack Sparrow_, she thought. You never play fair. He moved to take yet another finger into his mouth, eyes trained on hers all the while, but she spoiled his mischief, pulling away.

"That's quite enough, Jack," she said, meaning to sound stern, but knowing her voice betrayed her desire. But when is it really ever enough, she asked herself. When had she ever truly had her fill of the pirate captain?

"Waste not want not. And its _Captain_ Jack."

"Is it still, even when you've lost your ship once again? I'm still a married woman, you know. You'd do well not to forget it."

Jack snickered. "I'm not the only one who forgot it just a moment ago."

With a look of panic, Elizabeth fled her cabin for fresh cool air outside. Five years she'd stayed true to Will, resisting temptations and invitations from James, among others. But five minutes with Jack Sparrow, and he worked past her hard won armor.

How? He was a sneaky one. He didn't batter her with full force, but slipped past the armor plates at the seams. Slipped past, cut the bindings, and suddenly she felt she was naked, without any defense left at all.

Damn you, Jack, she hissed between her teeth, taking the helm from the steering rope. Damn you.

**Feedback is golden! Leave a few words of wisdom for the author, if you please... Thanks guys!**


	4. Waiting

**Chapter 4: Make Your Bed**

The pair slipped into Elizabeth's secret harbor just as the sky was beginning to turn gray with the coming dawn. "I can't say I'm too fond of the idea of paying the Commodore as visit," said Jack. "He does have a history of disliking me."

"Coward," sneered Elizabeth and traipsed past the pirate. They had to get to James' house before true dawn, when the town would awaken to start another day, _completely_ _identical_ to the one previous.

Jack made a face at her back. "I resent that, your _highness_."

Elizabeth was glad her back was turned to Jack. He couldn't see the obvious pleasure she took in being referred to by her pirate title once again, written across her face.

"Say it with a smile, Jack. You're the one who voted me King, _after_ _all_."

"Only out of necessity," he defended. "And don't think I haven't regretted it. You've been impossible to live with ever since..."

"It doesn't seem to matter anymore," she said glumly. Her days of mad hijinx on the sea seemed to have slipped away, with the green flash of the Dutchman leaving her world, returning to its own and taking her husband with it.

"It might come in handy again, someday," mused Jack. It was an offhand remark, but Jack wasn't always quite so random as he appeared. It made her wonder what kind of authority she might still wield within the Brethren Court, but before she could ask they arrived at the commodore's less than humble abode. It was a mansion nearly the size of the governor's, a huge house for a man to occupy alone.

She knew the way quite well, and the hiding spots for all the keys, to the gate and the front door. James would be expecting her for their early morning session de sabre, and hopefully would not even realize she had been gone.

"Someone's right familiar with the way in to the Commodore's home," insinuated Jack. "Perhaps our little Lizzy has not been quite so lonely as she makes herself out to be..."

"Stow it, Jack. We just¾"

"Elizabeth!" She found herself interrupted by the Commodore, and obviously quite a relieved one at that. So much for slipping away unnoticed. James rushed across the foyer, crushing her in an unexpected embrace. "Thank God you're alright."

He leaned back, cupping the side of her face with his hand as though he simply couldn't believe she was alive and well. Ironic, for she assumed he knew nothing of the scrape she'd just gotten herself out of. "I saw what is left of Puerto Moreas. The Padre was right, it was an absolute massacre, and not by human hands. I went to see you when I arrived back and when you weren't there. I thought the worst--" He crushed her in another hug. Over James' shoulder Elizabeth looked to what Jack thought of this uncharacteristic display of emotion from James.

Jack merely raised an eyebrow, a seemingly knowing smirk in place, his dark eyes laughing at her silently. She could hear him already. _Just friends, luv?_

"Easy there, former Commodore," said Jack, feeling he'd waited long enough for James to express his gushing love-sick-puppy emotions to the fullest extent. "She is a _married_ woman, after all. Watch where those mitts go."

James drew back, but a hand still rested on Elizabeth's arm. "And I see you brought company," said James flatly, obviously less than thrilled to see the pirate captain in his home.

"Yes, I too saw the massacre at Puerto Moreas, and then a personal eyewitness account of the subsequent attack, on Tortuga," explained Elizabeth, unapologetically.

"Tortuga? What were you doing in that cesspool of human filth?"

"Oi!"

Both ignored Jack's outcry. "Looking for someone who would know something about our supernatural friends a bit more than your average lay person here."

James looked to Jack. "And you found him, I assume?"

"So it seems."

"I suppose there were no churches to take shelter in, in Tortuga, godless lot that you are." James' tone was snide, taking a stab, but in truth after his experience with the other side, he couldn't really even truly say he believed in a God these days. Not in a conventional sense, at any rate.

"Churches don't help much mate, when the beasties burn them down around you."

James' expression darkened with the thought. "So are we next?" He concealed his fear well, as a seasoned navy officer, but Elizabeth could still see the dread in his eyes.

"Hard to say," said Jack. He looked around the room in an annoying pause, building the suspense. "He seems to have taken quite a liking to our Lizzy here, though, so perhaps we should expect it." Jack turned to see the effect of his malicious revealance, and was pleased to see Norringon's face turn just a shade paler. Elizabeth couldn't help but see a parallel irony of the situation, to events past. Here they were again, faced with a possible attack from beasties who were really only after Jack Sparrow...but if that were truly the case, Puerto Moreas would have been spared. No, the vampires were after something, but didn't seem to care how much blood was spilt along the way, and where.

Needless to say, she was not amused by the delight Jack took in torturing Norrington. "Don't exaggerate, Jack, he didn't want my blood any more or less than the others out of the street." She glared at the pirate, who merely deflected the rays of death jetting form her eyes with a gold glinting smile.

"It does bring us to the point, though, James. The vampires could come here tonight, or any other after. You must prepare the fort."

"How? How does one prepare for such an onslaught.?" lamented James, sinking down into a chair.

"Crosses, fire, weapons of a decapitative chopy chop nature, would be a start." Jack picked up a knickknack on a table, a sort of whale tooth ocarina used by sailors for entertainment. Blowing out a few notes, he smiled with satisfaction. "And put the priests on this island to some sort of use. Have them consecrate the fort. Make it holy ground that the vampires cannot cross. If they do strike, have the townspeople evacuate there."

James nodded. "I always thought vampires were just another myth. I should know better by now, shouldn't I?"

Jack shrugged. "Anything's possible in this ol' world, mate." Elizabeth paid him an extra long look. He was thinking about his Agua de Vida, no doubt, stashed away at his sash.

James stood from his chair, a sudden aire of purpose about him. "I must begin immediately, as much as I hate to forgo our morning routine, pleasure that it is," he said, no doubt a list of all the things he had to accomplish before the sun set running through his mind. And there was a haunted look in his eyes, no doubt remembering the carnage of Puerto Moreas.

He shook his head, as though the image could be cleared off so easily. It won't be Port Royal, he assured himself. I will see to it. He wished he felt as confident as the voice in his head.

As Elizabeth and Jack made for the exit, Norrington stopped Elizabeth with a gentle hand on her arm. "When night falls, will you come here?" he asked quietly, although there could be no hiding his request from the eavesdropping ears of Jack. "I would feel better if I knew you were safe."

His eyes were mournful, fearful, and Elizabeth hated that she was only going to compound upon his discomfort. "I can't promise you," she said truthfully.

James looked to Jack suspiciously, who only raised his eyebrows, not relieving any questions at all. "Why not? What else will you be occupied with?"

Elizabeth sighed. "I'm not a child who must be minded. My house is out of town, its probably the safest of the lot, if the vampires come to feed. If I hear the fort bell, I will come."

Nodding resignedly, James knew he couldn't change her mind. She'd become even more hard headed these days, was that what the title of Pirate King did to a woman? No, he was certain it was simply her. The attribute had been hers all along, and had come to full bloom in the light of her newest developments of independence.

"And where's _he_ going to stay?" asked James, shooting an icy glare in Jack's direction.

"On his ship," Elizabeth smoothly lied. James didn't know Jack had lost the Pearl again, and there didn't seem to be any reason for his need to know.

Stealthily, Jack and Elizabeth slipped out of the commodore's mansion, and through the back streets, hoping to go unnoticed.

Finally they quit the sprawl of the city, and walked along a well worn path lined by high grass on both sides. "So seein' as I don't really 'av me ship at this point, and Port Royal s'not exactly been friendly to blokes of my persuasion..."

"Are you asking if you can stay with me?" asked Elizabeth amusedly. She glanced back at Jack with a smirk. "Sure it's a good idea? I might feed you to a Kraken when you're not looking." Jack merely narrowed his eyes at her, and she laughed, enjoying being able to get under his skin. "Unless you eat that Agua de Vida for breakfast now, _Captain_, I'd be happy to treat you to a meal or two."

Jack noticed Elizabeth picking flowers along the way, but paid it little mind. "Sounds good, luv." After that the trail began to wind uphill, and Jack had little breath to make any remarks, smart or otherwise. Elizabeth, on the other hand, traipsed as though the path's incline affected her not, well used to it by now. She went along with her plucking of tropical flowers, the whole way up. Finally, they reached a clearing at the top of the bluff.

"You weren't joking when you said you live at the edge of town," Jack wheezed.

"I like it better that way. And so do _they_." She walked to a rock at the edge of the yard, and rested her now large handful of flowers upon it. Dozens and dozens of old and dried out blossoms lay below it, almost like a grave. But the rock didn't look like a tombstone to Jack. An altar? Had Elizabeth taken up a hobby of witchcraft as well? It didn't seem likely.

With a sigh of something like relief, Elizabeth walked to the edge of the cliff her house sat upon so precariously. A sheer drop down two hundred feet ended in rocks jutting out of the surf crashing below, and out ahead spread the ocean, a great blue rolling blanket stretched clear to the horizon. "You've got quite a view here, luv." said Jack, quite sincerely, for once.

"That I do. It's no crow's nest, or view from behind a helm, but it suits me for now."

"For now, eh?"

"Aye."

"What's with the rock?" he asked, nodding towards the stone piled high with blossoms old and anew.

Elizabeth pursed her lips hesitantly, weighing whether or not she really wanted to answer. Finally, she decided to go ahead with it, staring out at the endless waters, not wanting to look at his eyes. It was too much. "It's something of a...memorial stone. Will and I...made a child. But I lost it, early on. Three months after he'd left me. _Too active for my own good_ said the doctor. Too many long walks on the beach. I just bled it out, and a piece of me went with it I will never get back. So I decided to leave it all behind. Moved out of my father's house, and up here, to do exactly as I please."

She turned on her heel to go to the house, but before she could get far a warm firm hand gripped her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks, turning her back. She looked up to those intense black eyes, searching. For what? She did not know. But she felt that his knowing gaze could pierce straight through her, straight to her soul. _What? _She demanded in her head, but the word died on her tongue.

"M'sorry, luv," he said quietly. No hint of mockery, no teasing, no joke. Just Jack. A serious Jack. Well, that was depressing. Sympathy. She could have stood anything but sympathy, especially from him. Biting her lower lip, she held back the tears, held back the choking sensation she felt at the back of her throat.

"Thank you. But it's alright, really. I'm happy now."

Jack raised one dark eyebrow, not entirely convinced. "Are you?"

She looked around the yard, to the sea, anywhere but his eyes. But she truly considered his question. Well, was she? Finally, she bobbed her head, minutely. "Most of the time, yes. Yes, I am. I like this," she said, waving towards her house. It was small, simple, white, yet blinding in the morning sun, for strings and strings of seashells hung as a curtain on the porch, and lined the walkway, and the bougainvillea bushes out front. Their pink and white blossoms exploded in a froth of color. "_This_. This is mine, completely _mine. _No husband to wait on, no brats to run after. Just _mine_. I think you understand, don't you, Jack."

It wasn't a question.

And yes, he understood her, perfectly well. _Peas in a pod, luv_. Looking down at her, this changed and hardened yet suddenly infinitely even more interesting woman, Jack knew he didn't have to say it aloud.

"Shall we?" she asked, inclining her head towards the house. Jack's stomach grumbled. He would eat Agua de Vida for breakfast if he could, but unfortunately the life giving waters just had no substance to them.

"Lead the way, luv."

The house was small, but clean. Cozy. Lived in. The dimensions of the space rather reminded him of a great cabin. A painting hung on the wall, of a ship weathering a storm, sails filled full to the bursting and riding a great wave. He took a step closer, admiring the fine brushwork. He noticed an interesting detail on the sailing galleon: black sails. Colors of a jolly roger flying high and shameless in the breeze. It was the Pearl. A commissioned work? Perhaps. He smiled smugly with the thought.

There were also maps on the walls, and a pair of sleek swords hung above the mantle. Everything about the space spoke of a person who longed to be at sea but was kept from it, and made do in the meantime. The thought made Jack a bit sad. She claimed she was happy. Far as _she _knew, perhaps she was. But he had a different feeling. Jack had a feeling Elizabeth was simply stuck in _waiting. _

Waiting. That perpetual state most people live in, just waiting for life to begin. You silly silly mortals, he thought to himself. When will you realize life will only happen when you reach out and take it for yourself? Grab it greedily and never let go. No one will hand it to you. Pretend to sell it to you, maybe, but never hand it for free. Sometimes fate intervenes...but more often than not, life simply slips away...But then Elizabeth set off to making breakfast, and the smell of bread and eggs and sausage wafted through the air, and Jack Sparrow thought no more about it.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

Jack watched curiously, as Elizabeth carried water in from the well outside, making to fill a tub. She did not struggle with the buckets, as she might have once, with those skinny lass-of-leisure arms. Underneath that shirt Jack suspected she wasn't just slender and soft but had a bit of muscle. How unladylike. The thought made him tingle, just a bit. Oh, just a _bit. _

"Is that for me, luv?" he asked, leaning against the door of the washroom, where Elizabeth was emptying crystal clear water into a good sized tub. Soap and a sheet lay nearby, waiting for use.

Elizabeth looked up from her pouring, expression contorted as though Jack had grown three new heads. He smiled mischievously, gold glinting in his mouth in the morning light. He so loved keeping the lass on her toes. "Are you serious?" she asked, when he didn't burst out laughing heartily at his joke and walk away.

" 'Aven't had a good dip in a while," he confessed, though not ashamedly at all. "Not a luxury one has when fresh water is limited on a ship, as it were...and I always seem to be busy with getting dirtier when we make port..."

Elizabeth gave a much exaggerated eye roll. She certainly believed that.

She siddled up to him, hands clasped behind her back. "If you are serious, and truly want this bathwater for yourself, I will more than happily relinquish it to you. Jack Sparrow _asking _to take a bath is not an event to be taken lightly..."

Jack reached up to brush a knuckle under that infuriatingly haughty chin jutting out from her graceful swan neck. "Perhaps we could both make use of the water, as it were. I'll wash your back if you wash mine..."

Elizabeth took an inching step forward, where Jack could now feel the faintest line of heat emanating from her body. Her voice came smooth as silk and soft as kitten fur. "Why Jack, how accommodating of you...But I'm afraid you wouldn't stop at just my back, and then where would we be? It's just terribly improper."

"I'll tell you what's improper. A lady such as yourself gallivanting about in those knickers. You should remove them, immediately."

Those bee-stung lips curled in a bewitching smile, and it was all he could do not to claim them for his own that very moment. He was inching closer and closer to the edge, he realized, with every moment he found himself in the company of Elizabeth Swann. Hang it...Mrs. Turner. Well, her husband wasn't here, was he? In fact, the pointy end of _that _sword was a whole five years away, till it could next make landfall... Convenient. _Deuced_ convenient.

"Could you be so lucky, _Jack_." She grazed his mouth with a whispering breath, but kept lips torturously, fractionally, at bay. In a quick bounce of footwork was suddenly several feet away. "Enjoy your bath," she called over her shoulder, flouncing out of the house with something of a triumphant skip in her step.

He glared at the place in the doorway where she'd just been. Could he be so stupid? Such a fool? _She would stab you just as soon as kiss you, mate. _Yes, he knew that. _You know that. That's partly why you want her. She's a pirate, waiting to happen. _And what of him? A star struck pirate, that was a new one. No, he wasn't star struck, he mused, glancing down. He was simply...in pain. Could he be so lucky _indeed_. Well? Could he be?


	5. Make Your Bed

**Chapter 5: Make Your Bed**

Staying at the house of Elizabeth Turner seemed to agree with Jack quite well, at least for the time spent on land. After breakfast and that utterly unexpected quirk of a bath, she'd made him a midday meal as well. It even came with a bottle of rum, as though she just _knew _he'd had a hankering for the vile drink...well, it wasn't that difficult of a guess, with him...

Her gallant hospitality made him a mite suspicious, he had to admit. Out of habit, really. But in truth he suspected perhaps she was so generous out of lonesome boredom. Perhaps it was fun to have someone about the house to indulge in that urge to partake in feminine nurturing most women possessed, knowing full well they would be on their way to somewhere else soon? Or perhaps it was just a gift between old friends, plain and simple. Could things really ever be as such? Maybe.

There was a limit to her hospitality, he'd found. She would not do his laundry. Perhaps it smacked a bit too much of the domesticity she felt she'd managed to skip out on. When he asked she'd unapologetically pointed to the tub near the well, an expression of _help yourself _written clearly across her face. And so on another crack whim, Jack washed his shirt and vest. The water was nearly black when he finished.

At least it seemed as though it were a whim. A sudden fancy of the pirate's, to be clean. Elizabeth, however, had her suspicions. His only shirt wet and drying on the clothesline allowed Jack to guiltlessly but not guilelessly lounge around the house shirtless and barefoot all day, wearing just his knickers and that red bandana.

Yes, he'd caught Elizabeth looking. More than once. It infuriated her and tantalized her, all at once. She itched to run her fingers over his scars, to ask for the story behind every single one. Whether it was true or richly fabricated, she was sure Jack wouldn't disappoint.

It was as the sun was setting she came out to sit next to him on the little porch, propping her feet up on the railing. This was an action Jack would normally take no notice of, except now she was wearing a simple white dress, similar to the chemise she'd spent a day on that island in.

Propped up on the rail, the skirt displayed her long shapely calves to perfection, and even a bit of creamy white thigh. Having eventually gotten around to her own bath (how had he missed _that _opportunity? He blamed the rum...) her hair was wet and combed back from her face, out of the way and waving behind her. Practically devastating--what was she getting at?

He reached for the bottle, needing another drink, but she'd beaten him to it. Sniffing the mouth, she smiled. "Right bottle," she murmured to herself and took a healthy swig.

"Why Miss Swann, your opinion of this vile drink seems to have changed a great deal since we last met."

"So it has. And its Mrs. Turner, Jack, you keep forgetting."

"So I do, but I'm not the only one." He took back the offered bottle, a sly smile in place. It made her heart jump, if only just a little, and she resented him for that.

"I suppose you're referring to James, in this particular instance. He seems to be still quite in love with me. God help him."

Jack saluted with the bottle in hand. "God help us every one, luv," he said, and took a healthy swig. Perhaps it was just the rum, but the colors of the horizon were particularly vivid that evening. Pink and orange streaks smeared the sky, reaching out to meet bright purple and blue clouds, a breathtaking splash of color. Perhaps it was just paradise.

Jack continued, "The poor dummy just can't seem to cure himself, and ten years is an _awfully _long time to be alone. No one but Will would blame you..."

Elizabeth shot him a venomous look. "I'll have you know that my life has been rather devoid of male attention for the past five years, Captain Sparrow." she spat. "I have been _painfully _faithful."

And with that she rose to go inside the house. Fleeing, more like. It was a dangerous discussion to be having with Jack Sparrow. Frankly, he was too clever, and she found him to be far too fascinating for comfort.

Any other man would have just let Elizabeth go, let the conversation drop at that. But Jack got up to follow her. This could prove to be interesting yet.

"I'm not sure I believe it," he teased, ducking into the house. She was leaning against the doorjamb of the bedroom, her back to him, hair drying in ringlets that spilled in a golden riot down her back. A tiny trinket also glittered in the sun, catching his attention, and piquing his curiosity. Jack would have to remember to ask her about it later. But not now. He had bigger fish to fry. Opportune moments to make and take, as it were. "The siren of Port Royal, who cannot survive without _at least_ three men falling over her at all times?"

Elizabeth whirled on Jack, an expression crossed between anger and sorrow written across her face. "And where are all these men who love me you speak of, Jack? All the men I cared about either sailed off into the sunset or died, five years ago."

Jack came to stop before her, toe to toe, and crossed his arms. "You'd made your choice, luv. Made your bed and laid in it too--not my fault it wasn't mine." By the smoldering look in his eyes, the infuriating curl of his lips, Elizabeth suddenly couldn't help but feel she was being stalked.

Well, that was their game, wasn't it? They'd been playing it all day, all the time they'd known each other even, curious if one or the other would break. She swallowed her fear, determined not to be out done by the pirate. The problem was that there was a line Elizabeth didn't exactly want to cross. Jack had no such line. He made that quite clear, without a word.

Elizabeth leaned in ever so slightly, entirely conscious of Jack's eyes upon her, particularly at that moment her lips.

"I doubt I would be much happier had I chosen _your _bed. You too would have off and left me, given time."

Jack smirked, pacing around Elizabeth. They circled each other now; dualists, waiting for the opportune moment. "Only if you started to bore me," he admitted. "But I find you more and more interesting, every time we meet. And even if I did leave you, I certainly wouldn't have left you _unsatisfied._"

He stopped, and Elizabeth in turn as well, watching him oh so carefully. His smile glinted gold, reveling in her reaction. He stepped towards her, and instinctively she retreated. An alarm bell sounded, but went ignored; she was far too deep in to run now.

"And I'm sure whatever short fumblings the whelp offered you on that _gritty_ beach were entirely as such: all first times are."

His words hit a sour note deep within her. Perhaps her first and only union with Will was disappointing, short, and alarmingly painful. But it was all she had of him. She knew better than to confuse sex with love. However, it was difficult not to wish for both, wasn't it? Does anyone ever get to have both? Left with no sharp reply, Elizabeth only glared at the pirate.

"Ah, no rebuttal? An undisputed affirmative, then, eh luv?" Another step towards her, another step she took in retreat. She was losing ground, slowly being backed into a wall near the bedroom.

Outwardly calm, but frantic inside her head for some retaliation, she struck for a nerve. She did not shrink from his next step, but stood her ground, bringing them torturously close. "You called me a siren, Jack," she whispered breathily above his lips. "But it wasn't my voice that drew you to crash upon the rocks, was it?"

Privy to her game, Jack used their proximity as a weapon as well, ducking down to breathe against her neck. "Not at all, it was curiosity." He flicked out his tongue, grazing her neck with the lightest of touches, and she was certain she would melt. Her knees trembled, and she cursed her weakness, her desire. "I wanted to know what you taste like."

He leaned down to taste again, and Elizabeth jumped back from the contact, as though he'd touched her with a hot iron. His tongue burned her skin, but not in a painful way. In her rush to retreat she found herself against the wall, and Jack was suddenly there, pinning her. Not in a threatening way, but still, most decidedly trapping. His weight settled against hers on a vertical axis, pushing her breath from her in a gentle sigh. That small sound of desire was very nearly his undoing.

A tension thrummed in Jack's muscles, but he resisted the temptation to pounce that very moment. _hold steady, mate. She's not yours yet. _But she was so close, so bloody close he could...taste it.

"And you're still curious, aren't you? How could you not be?" Slowly he lifted her hands above her head, pinning them above her with one of his own, smiling wickedly. Those eyes, so black and fathomless; she felt as though they could swallow her up whole.

He put his other hand to intoxicating use, stroking down the sensitive skin of her underarm from elbow to armpit, drawing a delicious shudder from deep inside. "Jack, we can't...this is madness..." she pleaded, sighing as he ducked to plant kisses upon her collarbone, and the upper swell of her breast. His lips traveled up her neck, soft as a moth's wing, and paused to plant a wet kiss at the base of her ear.

"This is not madness," he contradicted, murmuring against her skin. She could feel the slightest tremble shudder through his frame as she shifted her hips to press more against him. "This is perfectly natural. This is two people indulging in a long felt curiosity. What's crazy is the utter waste of a beautiful woman like you going untouched by anyone but your own fingers in ten whole years."

She rocked her head forward to rest in the crook of Jack's neck. He smelled of her soap, but still also of the sea, and the exotic aroma that belonged to his skin and his skin alone. She fought the urge to sob, to scream, to beg Jack to release the tension that had been building inside her long before she married Will, and was not released by Will even after she had.

Jack raised up his head to look Elizabeth in those lovely brown eyes, the color of burnt sugar. If she'd told him to stop at that moment, to get off of her, to get out, he would have. But she was far too lost in the sensation of his weight pressed into her, their bodies melded into one line in the hot Caribbean night. He had her, and he knew it, and she knew it, so he leaned down to collect his prize, taking her lips in a kiss that was gentle at first, but soon grew with the vindication of their need.

He reached to hook her leg up around his hip, leaning forward to grind against her. She could feel...oh God she could feel everything. At that moment she wanted everything, everything that was Jack Sparrow. But not Jack Sparrow the legend. Jack Sparrow the man.

Elizabeth reveled in Jack's touch. She hadn't realized the full extent of her desire to be with someone, to be touched and kissed and teased, until Jack was there filling the emptiness. He filled it with lips and tongue grazing her skin, tasting the treasure of her mouth. His fingers explored her skin, tantalizing touch mapping the contours of her curves, her bones beneath taut supple skin. She whimpered as his hand grazed her thigh, traveling up, pushing past the nearly diaphanous skirt. His touch was so gentle, so maddeningly slow.

He traced her outside, ever so gently, light headed with elation for the experience before him. He'd dreamed of this more times than fingers and toes could count, it almost seemed as though it couldn't be real. But it _was_ real. Elizabeth was pressed to him, arching her back against his weight. It was Elizabeth's fingers digging in to his shoulders, not Scarlette's or Giselle's who he imagined to be Elizabeth; he would not be slapped for calling her name, for it was her own teeth nibbling at his earlobe.

Unable to wait any longer, he parted her folds and slipped one long finger inside her. "Jack!" she cried, thrusting her hips against his hand.

"Easy, luv," he whispered, smiling above a taut pink nipple freed from the delving neckline of that maddening dress, before taking it between his teasing teeth, laving it with his tongue. How does he know exactly how to touch me, wondered Elizabeth. How does he know exactly where to lick, bite, kiss, where to put his fingers to find the throbbing pulse between her legs?

She imagined his answer between the waves of pleasure assaulting her body, originating at her center and fanning out to all corners of the map. _luv, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow_. She would have laughed, had her mouth not been occupied with exploring his skin, biting his shoulder as a particularly devastating wave of bliss coursed through her body, and Jack groaned. Not out of pain, but anticipation.

This demanding tension built and built and built through Jack's manipulation, a tightness more intense than anything she'd ever accomplished just pleasuring herself, alone at night. It coiled inside her, tight as a spring, and her body begged to be released. Not through words, but through the arch of her back, one of her legs wrapped around Jack's hip, pulling his closer, a hand tangled in dark ropey hair Jack knew she was nearing close to the edge. Jesus, she wasn't a siren, she was a goddess.

He hungered to slip inside her, to know her secrets deep within, to find a similar bliss that was written across her heavy lidded expression. Jack Sparrow was usually a rather self serving man. He knew this, would even admit it, unabashedly. In fact, it was his unselfish moments that seemed to get him into the most trouble. This very possibly, most likely, nearly undoubtedly, was one of those moments, of which would surely lead to some difficultly or another. But he didn't care right then, because this was a gift Lizzy had long been deserving.

And so it was with great disappointment Elizabeth whimpered, when Jack pulled his hand away. He grinned at her glowering stare, and suddenly she found herself picked up in his arms, a thigh on either side of his waist. "Now now, luv, don't look at me like that," he said, taking them to the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" she asked, secretly thrilled to be carried in his arms to her bed. She sank down into the soft feather mattress, and expected him to crawl atop her at any moment. But instead he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at her, eyes full of dark desire and delight. With a wicked smile he kneeled down at the side of the bed, pulling her a bit closer with hands on the backs of her knees.

"You'll love this," he assured her, planting a kiss on the inside of her thigh, slowly traveling higher. "You'll have found a way to finally shut me up. At least for a little while..."

He looked up to find curiosity in those caramel colored eyes, along with a little of something else. Fear? Uncertainty? To be expected. He could have reassured her again, but he decided he would rather just show her the gates of heaven, rather than describe them to her.

Those deliciously wet kisses trailed up her thigh, causing Elizabeth's head to rock back. "Jack..." she sighed. Then suddenly his hot breath was there above her, the only preclude of a warning before he touched her center with his tongue. It proved something she already knew to be true: no one had a mouth like Jack Sparrow. Whether it was being used to smile, kiss, swear, insult, beguile, or...

The gift, so to speak, was growing to a point of explosion within her, she was certain she would burst into a million tiny pieces if this pressure wasn't released, but then again it would be a relief to do just that. Just at the point where Elizabeth was certain she could no longer stand this extreme but torturous pleasure, the dam broke, releasing a flood of white hot bliss to course through her body.

Starbursts flashed behind her eyelids, and Jack rode the physical wave of pleasure running through her as she bowed her back, a most deliciously uncivilized groan escaping her lips. It raced through her nervous system in a scintillating rush, feeling as though it fired every nerve, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. Finally she lay still, but Jack could still feel the slightest tremors from her, like after shocks of an earthquake.

Utterly pleased, smiling as the cat who ate the cream, he crawled up to settle his weight on top of her, sitting up on his elbows to look down at her. "Now do you wish you'd made your bed with me?" he asked smugly.

"Don't ask me to evaluate my decisions right now," she said languidly, reaching up to brush away a charm woven in his hair. A slow smile spread on her lips. "It could just ruin everything. I--"

"Elizabeth?" Someone called from outside, both recognized the voice: Norrington.

"I'm going to kill him," hissed Elizabeth, wide eyed with alarm.

"Pity for the commodore, a man has to take such threats from you seriously," grumbled Jack, having similar thoughts of ill will towards the wandering Commodore.

"Elizabeth?" closer, louder, more urgent. The front door was unlocked, he could barge in at any moment. She knew she needed to intercept him, but was oh so reluctant to move. But fear of James finding her in such a compromising position with the pirate motivated her to at least go lock the door... "I _am_ going to kill him," she repeated.

Reluctantly Jack let her stand. She very nearly fell back to the bed or to the floor, her limbs felt like rubber. "My knees are weak," she whispered, hands scrambling to fix her dress properly once again.

Jack watched her from the bed, propped up on his elbows. "Then you should go kill the Commodore, and come right back."

Elizabeth looked to the shirtless man lazing with such ease across her bed. A twinge of guilt hit her that it wasn't her husband, but she pushed it down, away, out of mind. Stronger emotions would re surface later, she was sure. Biting her lip, she nodded, and fled the room to intercept James, before he saw something that would shatter him forever.

Slipping out the front door, Elizabeth sighed, "James, really you¾" Where she was about to berate him for caring too intensely for her personal safety, she was cut short by a surprising sight. James was not alone. He was joined by Hector Barbossa, and a smattering of what Elizabeth assumed to be recently acquired crew, for she did not recognize many of them. Most alarmingly, a rather burly member held a curved knife at James' throat. "Hector Barbossa!" Elizabeth exclaimed loudly, knowing Jack would be listening in.

Although Barbossa's face was thrown in shadow by his wide brimmed hat, she could still see his mouth split in a grin. Not exactly a welcoming sight. "Mrs. Turner, long time no see." Well, it seemed someone remembered her marital status. Perhaps because he himself had performed the ceremony amidst that battle in the maelstrom.

"No news is good news, as they say...what the bloody hell are you doing?" she demanded, gesturing at James' precarious situation.

Barbossa shot a glance in the Commodore's direction, smile widening to very nearly a baring of teeth. "There's something you have, that I be in need of, and I could think of no other way to persuade you to part with it. The object of question being _very_ near and dear to you."

A cold lump formed in Elizabeth's stomach. She had a feeling she knew...a very bad feeling. Absently she began to reach for the charm, but stopped herself, instead brushing all her hair behind her, out of view. "You can't have it," she said, voice gone steely. Deadly. Men had died after hearing that tone of hers, and Barbossa knew it. But still he grinned.

"Very well." The slightest signal of hand, and a trickle of blood began its descent down James' throat. She watched, as the burly pirate's arm tensed for a final stroke, she screamed, "NO! Wait!" The blade stopped. James had already died once for her, she couldn't let it happen again. Not if she had some say in it. "I hid it," she confessed.

Barbossa nodded, expecting as much. "Treasure hunts be one of a pirates' favorite games, lass. I hope you can find it again."

"I have a map."

"Even better. I still think you and the Commodore best come with us, though, for insurance's sake. I would be cranky if we had to come find you again. And we know how awful I can be, when I'm cranky."

Elizabeth glared. She and Barbossa had fought on the same side, once, but she still trusted him no farther than she could throw him. Back to the Pearl, it seemed, though she did not voice it, not wanting to let on she'd had any contact with Jack Sparrow.

"I need to change clothes," she insisted, but dared not move lest her action be taken as a gesture of ill faith, and James no longer possessed an intact windpipe.

"What's wrong with what you're wearing now?" All present leered at her in some fashion, except for James. His eyes were distant, but not terrified. Almost tired. Another round of games with pirates, it seemed. It was a game he'd hoped to avoid now. He'd had his fill, as it were.

"Please." Her voice was flat and unyielding as stone. Asking, but by no means begging. She could go aboard the Pearl in a dress if she had to, she would slit anyone who dared try touch her from naval to nose. She and Barbossa's eyes met, and she sensed a certain acknowledgement in his gaze. Equals? No, he would never admit that. But respect for another warrior, another pirate? Yes, certainly, without a doubt.

"Ye have five minutes, Miss Turner, and be sure to bring that map. And the key too, if you please."

Without another word she disappeared into the house, straight to the bedroom. As she expected, it was empty, as was the rest of the house. Elizabeth did not feel angry though, or deserted, or curse Jack for cowardice. No, in fact, she took it as a compliment, that he had faith in her abilities to tangle with Barbossa and his crew, until they met again. And she was certain they would very soon.

Barbossa here meant Jack's precious Pearl was also near; she doubted he would let an opportunity like this slip by, to take her back. They could have her by morning, she mused, mostly in jest. Maybe Jack would even let her steer...not bloody likely.

**Liked it? Hated it? Leave some feedback please, it's all I work for here...and the personal gratification of manipulating POTC characters like puppets, but that's not the point, is it matees? **


	6. And Lay in It

-1**Chapter 6: And Lay In It**

Elizabeth found herself in the brig of the Pearl, staring through the bars at James, slumped in the straw in the cell opposite her. It was dank and drippy, smelled of salt, mildew, gunpowder, and other unidentifiable but equally noxious substances. "I'm sorry," Norrington finally spoke, glumly. "I'm afraid I failed you again."

Elizabeth inclined her head, dark thick brows furrowed. "None of that, James. You died for me once already. I couldn't bear for it to happen again. Especially not over something as silly as this."

James laughed, a short bitter burst of sound. "You would call the safety of your husband's heart silly? I would hate to know what you deem serious..."

His sarcasm perplexed Elizabeth. Something had the Commodore in a mood, and although the present surroundings would seem to lend to that, she didn't quite think that was it. He spoke again, tone slipping to practically pure acidity. "And where did Jack get off to? I didn't expect him to skip port so soon on _his ship_."

Elizabeth realized she'd been caught in her lie, that James had deduced Jack had no ship at the time of her telling it. She felt as though she were playing a game of deception with an overly watchful parent or governess, walking on hot coals to keep everyone convinced of her innocence. It seemed ridiculous, the more she thought about it, and rankled her mood to match James'.

Why couldn't she bloody well do as she pleased, without answering to anyone? She was certainly a big girl now, and she took care of herself rather well. Well, the simplest answer was that she _could _do as she bloody well pleased. It just lay with her to _do _it. Unapologetically.

Jack was rubbing off on her, in more ways than one.

"Why would he stay?" she asked, voice deceptively sweet.

"Don't be coy." There was a note of accusation in his voice. Did he hear something of her last heated encounter with Jack? A stray moan slipped through the window, into the hot night to find unsuspecting ears? Or was he merely suspicious by habit--she and Jack did have something of a history together, she supposed.

A history? More like a gravity. Something pushing, pulling, seemingly out of their control. Or maybe she just fancied it was out of her control. That would make everything much more simple.

One of the crew members she did not recognize descended the stairs, came to stand before her cell. "Captain's ready for ye," he grumbled, unlocking her cell door. Pushing to her feet, Elizabeth followed without a word.

The first time she'd parleyed with Barbossa she'd been just a girl, a lass of nineteen years old. She'd been so bloody terrified, it was a wonder she'd been able to gather enough wits about her to even stab him, little good that it did. And nearly seven years down the road now, how did she feel? Surprisingly calm. Cool. Capable. Upon her self examination she found herself wielding a self-assured confidence, that came with repeated exposure to this strange, wonderful, and deadly world of pirates.

**IIIIIIII**

The great cabin of the Pearl had been transformed to Barbossa's taste once again. Heavy velvet drapery darkened the walls and windows, and covered the table. Candles burned in a heavy silver sconce, no doubt acquired illicitly. If the loot in Barbossa's cabin could be taken as a sign, the Pearl had seen her fair share of honest pirating. The thought made her smile, even if it wasn't Jack behind the helm. That would all change soon, she was fairly certain.

"It looks as though you've kept yourselves busy," she said, admiring a painting hung on the wall. It seemed to be of the hand of a Dutch master, a still life of rotting fruit, a skull, and a butterfly lighted atop it.

"That we have," affirmed Barbossa, pleased and taking a crunching bite out of one of his beloved green apples. Ever-present, Jack the monkey perched on his shoulder, baring his canines, with ear-grating chatter every now and then.

"Then I must ask, what would you be wanting with Will's heart? With Beckette gone, business must be good, competition weeded out, and trade ships from Spain laden with stolen treasures meandering two and fro...why pick a fight with the captain of the Dutchman? The most powerful ship of the seven seas, that sails in this world only when It chooses to?"

Barbossa gave a wry smile. "If it sails exactly where it chooses to, then why hasn't it been to visit your shores lately?"

The stab hit home, but Elizabeth's expression only darkened momentarily before returning to a cool façade. One pirate had already gotten the better of her tonight, the number needn't increase double. When she gave no answer, Barbossa continued, "Because Captain William Turner has a duty to do, and as we all well know, the lad can't be dissuaded from doing an honest duty."

"He's not like us, is he?' Elizabeth mused quietly. Could she really lump herself in the same category as Barbossa? A pirate captain and a pirate king, that she certainly could.

The crunch of another bite filled the air. "Not at all, missy. He's a good man. Not rotten and selfish like we cutthroat scallywags."

Elizabeth dropped down in a chair, and kicked her booted feet up to rest on the table. It was not an insulting gesture, merely one of ease. After being away from the game for five years, Elizabeth appreciated that Barbossa still included her in the brethren, to speak generally.

There was something curious about Barbossa tonight, that she only noticed once they'd boarded the ship. For a man who wanted something, he seemed surprisingly...at ease. She remembered their first encounter, when he'd torn Port Royal to shreds, quite literally, in search of that lost Aztec gold piece. Perhaps he wanted the heart, but to what ends? Quite frankly, he didn't seem to really give a damn.

"But we have a curiosity to take into consideration, don't we, Mrs. Turner? The Commodore's return from the world of the dead is an interesting case. Rumors have flown across the Caribbean, of a ferrier who can bring back those we thought lost forever. The choice of a somewhat friend returned doesn't seem so strange, but a body must ask if the ferrier could be...persuaded, with a certain item of some importance to him, to bring back others?"

"Who do you want brought back?" asked Elizabeth, beginning to understand his game.

"Oh no, lass, not me. If I wanted someone back, I know the way to fetch them me own self, don't I? I have no need of the heart."

"Then who does?"

"A Spanish gentleman of a certain persuasion, by name of Francisco de Gama. "

Elizabeth's heart dropped to her stomach, and a cold lump replaced it in her chest. She hoped her expression didn't betray her fear. "I would think you must mean _Don _de Gama. And by a certain persuasion, you mean he's a vampire."

Barbossa raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so you already know of him."

"Know him personally, actually. We met in Tortuga, just last night. Nearly even dined together, as it were..."

Captain regarded her with a new level of interest. Attempting to gauge something, but what, she couldn't be sure.

"Oh did you? Looking for Jack Sparrow, I imagine."

"He was, yes." Abruptly Hector stood, crossing to Elizabeth. With brusque fingers he craned her head, assessing her neck for bite marks. She let him, for she had nothing to hide. "But I don't believe he found him."

"Jack's made himself scarce these days, I've had trouble finding him me self." Elizabeth tilted her head thoughtfully, looking up at the pirate, with a lazy smile. Her confidence smacked of another captain they knew, and it made Barbossa wonder. "You wouldn't happen to know where to find him, would you? Because if you did, that would make this easier on the both of us."

"Oh?" she played coy.

"He's got l'Agua de Vida, which is all I really want out of this mess. If you could find a different way to give it to me, we can forget all about your precious William's heart, and make a new deal."

Elizabeth quickly weighed the consequences quickly. In short, it all equaled one big mess.

"I haven't seen Jack Sparrow, not since he sailed off, on this ship, five years ago. I can't imagine why he would avoid me, its not as though I took advantage of his fondness for my person and used it to chain him to the mast of his own ship, whilst the kraken dragged it down to Jones' locker..." she shrugged. Siren indeed. "But I hear the man hasn't aged a day."

Barbossa's lip curled in a snarl. It was quite obvious, that he had, much to his dismay. "That's a pity. We'll just have to stick to our original agreement then." Barbossa held up the key Elizabeth had given him, which was resting atop her map. And hope dear William isn't in a suicidal mood, after being away from his dearly beloved wife for so very long."

"I'm sure William will do what he can...lets hope Senor de Gama won't be disappointed."

"Aye, lass, let's hope." It was apparent that neither of them were enchanted with their new acquaintance.


	7. The Amazing Immortal Captain Jack Sparro

-1**Chapter 7: The Amazing Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow**

"I miss Jack," confessed Ragetti, looking out on the great black expanse that was the ocean at night, the reflection of the moon glittering on the caps of the waves. For he only had one eye, there wasn't exactly a panoramic view.

"Aye, he was a bit more fun than Barbossa, wudn't he?" agreed Pintell.

"And five years since taking poor Jack's beloved Pearl from him, and we still haven't found l'Agua de Vida. A bit discouragin', isn't it?"

"Are you sayin' we should have stuck with Jack?"

"Rumor has it he's already found it. Hasn't aged a day."

Pintell shrugged. "We'll get it yet," he said. "Once this complicated business is done with the vampire, we'll be sippin' the sweet waters before we know it."

"But why wait, mates?"

Both Ragetti and Pintell jumped at the new voice, which they both knew quite well.

"Jack?"

"I used to have to consistently correct people on that. _Captain, Captain_ _Jack_ _Sparrow_. But now the game's changed a bit. Now, its _Immortal _Captain Jack Sparrow."

Pintell and Ragetti grinned, completely forgetting that this was an intruder aboard that their present Captain would very much like to be alerted of. "Aw. So you did find it?"

"Sure as day, gents. And I've got plenty more stashed away, which I'd be willing to share..." Jack grinned, gold teeth flashing in the moonlight. "That is, if the captaincy of a certain ship I love so dearly were to be returned to its rightful owner, and by that I mean yours truly...toute suite."

The inseparable pair exchanged wary looks. "And the mutineers?" They had betrayed Jack, not once, but twice. Not an easy thing to forgive and forget.

As much as he hated to say it, a higher prize was at stake. So Jack assured them, "Bygones, mates. By this time tomorrow we could be sailing happily away, the Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow, and his immortal crew. What say you?"

Pintell and Ragetti gave a rotten toothed grin.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

Barbossa and Elizabeth continued to discuss the parameters of their agreement. The Captain insinuated multiple times that he really, truly, would not mind throwing his dealings with the vampire pirate to the wind, if Elizabeth would only help him find l'Agua de Vida via Jack Sparrow. But she'd already given up Jack once to save all their skins. She wouldn't be doing it again.

At least, not while there were other options at hand.

"You keep insisting that I must have some means of contact with our illusive Jack Sparrow. What makes you so certain I'm lying?" ELizabeth had risen from her relaxed seat once again to inspect the other trappings she'd missed the first round, something to do. She eyed a sword on the wall, admiring its craftsmanship.

"You said it yourself, Mrs. Turner. He has a certain fondness for your...person. We've all seen the way he looks at you, and that was when your husband was still around in this world. Once a man achieves his long sought goal of immortality, what else is there to do but go after the girl?"

Elizabeth had a momentary flashback of exactly how he'd gone after her earlier that night, and her cheeks burned. Luckily the cabin was dim, and her back was turned. "Don't be ridiculous, Barbossa. A man doesn't chase after a woman who killed him once."

"A sane man wouldn't, but Jack is a bit daft, now isn't he?"

"Some would say that," said Elizabeth illusively. She wasn't sure if she could really agree anymore.

There was a knock on the door, of a rather insistent nature. "Captain, we'd like a word with you."

Ragetti.

"Later," called Barbossa, in no mood at the moment to entertain whatever bilge had congealed in the mite's brain.

"No, Captain, now, if you please," the skinny one-eyed pirate insisted.

A suspicious eyebrow raised, Barbossa went to the door, wrenching it open. "What?" he snarled.

And was met with dead silence. The whole crew had gathered outside the door, all brandishing weapons. Some smiled maliciously, but most held blank expressions. Just good business. And in the middle, stood Jack Sparrow, smug. Elizabeth's heart jumped at the sight: things were looking up already.

"What's this?" growled the Captain, shooting a look to the crew that would have killed a normal set of men.

"We thought it fit to inform you we've elected a new captain," piped Ragetti.

"Democracy...isn't it great?" said Jack with a smile.

Not quite resigned to fate, for he still had one thing he thought at least slightly of interest to Jack Sparrow, Barbossa made to move quickly back inside his cabin, intent on taking a hostage. But as soon as he whirled, he found there was no hostage to take, only a particularly menacing, completely sharp, and expertly wielded blade hovering just before his face. Elizabeth had taken no time to flow with the Tao of the ship's politics, as it were. "To the brig you go, Barbossa," she said, one dark eyebrow raised in triumph.

Recognizing defeat, at least for the moment, Barbossa stepped from the cabin. "You're looking young," he grumbled at Jack, entirely grasping the situation without a further word of explanation.

"And you, my dear Barbossa, are looking frighteningly old. Can't stop the march of time, eh? Unless you have the right map, that is..."

With little more than a growl, Barbossa went quietly to the brig, intent to live to fight another day. Although Jack was more reluctant to kill than most pirates, he had proven once that he was more than willing to make an exception for Barbossa.

"Release Norrington while you're at it," called Elizabeth to the pirate leading Barbossa down. The pirate, a tall man with skin dark as ebony, tattoos spiraling across his face, looked to Jack in confusion. Unleashing a navy officer upon them did not seem to be in the best interests of the ship.

Jack narrowed his eyes at Elizabeth. Look at her, already giving orders, as though it were _her _ship. Just like a woman... "Belay that," Jack said, eyes never leaving Elizabeth's. He greatly enjoyed the expression of indignation that crossed her pretty features. "A night in the brig won't hurt the good Commodore."

"Jack!" Elizabeth protested. "You can't--"

"In fact I can, and will, Ms. Swann. And if you have a problem with the authority on this ship you can join the both of them. Savvy?"

She wanted to protest, but bit her tongue. Jack's eyes were black and glinting in the moonlight, hard as obsidian. He would brook no breach of authority on his newly acquired ship. His truest love, and she knew it. Would he really throw her in the brig if she jeopardized it? Oh yes, most certainly. Not a doubt in her mind.

"Yes, _Captain_."

The dark pirate left to take down Barbossa, and then the rest of the crew dispersed to their posts, as though nothing truly momentous had taken place. Just good business. Soon Elizabeth and Jack were left essentially alone on deck.

Elizabeth stood in the doorway of the cabin, now Jack's once again, leaning against the doorjamb. "That took even less time than I expected. And without firing a single shot. How do you do it, Jack?" The question was redundant, but she couldn't help but say it, a small smile curling her lips.

Jack shrugged, but was obviously pleased to have his beloved Pearl back.

"Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow, luv."

"That you are," she said quietly, looking to the deck. She was suddenly quite aware of the look Jack was paying her. For lack of a better word it was predatory. As he took a step forward, she knew she was being stalked once again. She knew also that should he succeed in corralling her into his cabin, the way he'd had her against the wall, and subsequently the bed, she would be utterly lost once again.

The thought unnerved her almost as much as it tantalized her. Someone was after Will's heart, and who knows where their adventure would lead? Would she be face to face with her husband soon? Much, much sooner than she expected?

An infidelity would not be aged five years when next she would face Will, but maybe within months. Weeks. Days. What had she done? A sort of panic gripped her heart. It couldn't be undone now. And yet at the same time, she found a familiar sensation echo from the past: she wasn't really sorry.

She felt perhaps more sorry that she wasn't sorry, confusing as it was. But she wasn't quite sure she wanted to add to the list _quite_ yet. Perhaps falling off the edge once was easier to forgive than repeatedly...no, Will wouldn't care how many times. Once would be as bad as twenty to him, she was sure of it.

Jack was obviously intent on relocating them back to his cabin. And she was obviously reluctant. He'd expected this, after she'd had a chance to ruminate. As he leaned over her, she ducked under his arm. "Barbossa is after Will's heart," she said quickly, hoping to change the atmosphere of their encounter.

"Mmm hmm." Jack still followed her, like a slow predator, utterly confident in himself, certain he would catch her eventually.

"And he would have given it to our friend Francisco the vampire."

"Mmm hmm." He wasn't really listening, it seemed. He was too busy stalking. She found herself being backed into another corner again, figuratively. "Someone's feeling guilty," he taunted.

"Perhaps. But perhaps not as guilty as I should be feeling." For seemingly the umpteenth time tonight, Elizabeth found herself mere inches away from the pirate captain. She held her ground, inclining her head to tease him with the proximity of her coveted lips.

His mouth curled up in that wickedly wonderful smirk. "Just what I wanted to hear, luv. Then you should have no objections to christening my first night back in my cabin with me."

"Oh? And I was so certain you were going to say something along the lines of _once is enough_," she whispered above his mouth. A low groan escaped from deep in Jack's throat, and he leaned forward to claim those lips. She tried to duck away, intent on fleeing, but Jack had different ideas. With catlike reflexes he caught her round the waist, and she found herself pressed up against something solid, her hands trapped above her head. Elizabeth looked up, and saw her proverbial corner she'd been backed into was the main mast. Poetically ironic.

They stood at an impasse, Jack holding her with his strength, and she him with her piercing gaze. "Just going to take what you want, are you?" He did want to take her, straight to his berth and off with the clothing, to finish what they'd started merely hours ago. In fact, it seemed downright ridiculous not to, at least from where he was standing...

Brushing his thumb over her lower lip, he demanded, "Why should I have to, when you want it just as much as I do?" She trembled at hearing this, from anger, fear, or desire, Jack couldn't tell. Perhaps it was all three. Which ever the consequence, Jack knew what he was going to do, and there would be no stopping him.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. When she gave no struggle, only closed her eyes, he released her hands, moving to cup her face in both of his as he explored her mouth. Her tongue was a slick wetness against his lips, pulling another involuntary groan from him. Ever so gently, her nails brushed the dusting of scruff at his cheeks, before her fingers delved into his hair, and she leaned against him with a certain sense of urgency.

A thought of _this is total madness _flitted through her brain, but she duly ignored it. Maybe she would kiss him a little more, and then she would stop. She would walk away. Stay faithful to Will. She would go _now. _Well, maybe not. Maybe later. Ten seconds more. Twenty. A minute, just a minute. She just wanted one more sip, just another taste of Jack Sparrow. And another. And another.

Jack's hands roamed underneath her shirt, sliding over her stomach and up her ribcage. As he kissed her, fingertips slid underneath the swatch of cloth that bound her breasts, damn nearly of their own accord. Well...yes, nearly. He growled in frustration when his hands could go no further, and moved down to instead delve fingertips into her waistline.

"Jesus god, Jack!" she sighed, breathily, hands convulsing around his shoulders as he ducked down to kiss her neck, and the triangle of flesh that her loose shirt left exposed of her chest. How did he undo her so quickly? Where was her self control? Once again, for the second time that night, her bare skin was within his grasp, without hardly any struggle it all, it seemed.

So lost in the heat of their passion, she did not notice anything awry when he pushed her hands down by her side, until she heard the tell-tale click and the pressure of a manacle around her wrist. When she pulled back to look at him with surprised fury, he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed. He couldn't stand to look at her eyes, not at that moment. He would probably just unlock her again, and drag her to his berth, shedding clothes as the went. And that would just ruin everything. "So I can keep a better eye on you."

"Jack! Unlock this at once!" Certainly not the repentant damsel. The venom in her voice could have dropped six men flat to the ground.

"I've been wanting to do this for years, and there's not a chance in hell. I'm not sorry, luv." His mouth hovered over hers, and she was certain he would kiss her again. But much to her surprise, he stepped back, and disappeared back into his cabin, closing the door behind him. He would have to christen it by himself tonight, it seemed.

"Bloody pirate," she hissed, kicking in the direction he'd disappeared. Her heart still thundered in her chest from his ministrations, and her skin missed the heat and pressure of his own against it. Shaking her head, she slid down to sit at the base of the mast, chain clinking as she did. Perhaps it was for the better, after all.

_Keep telling' yourself that, darlin' _echoed in her head.

"Shut up, Jack," she muttered, curling up against the cool night air. It was going to be a long night on deck.

**Reviews are love!!**


	8. I Spy

-1**Chapter 8: I Spy**

Blue eyes, as dark as the ocean at night, and just as forbidding, consumed Elizabeth from all sides. She was drowning, limbs gone dead in dark water holding her powerless, immobile, unable to kick for the surface. She could not even tell which way was up, all was a menacing blue, obscuring the location of that saving gulp of air. _You cannot run from me_ echoed a voice within her mind. _Because you are already mine._

_No no no_ she chanted, shaking her head, finding it was all she could do. But there, there in the distance was a sparkle of light, far away. She fought to win her limbs back, fought to keep the life that was hers. As she began to resist against the water, she found her probing hands could push against it, propel her forward. Closer, the sparkle came closer, penetrating the dark oppressive depths.

Elizabeth awoke with a gasp, disoriented. Sunlight, bright and inviting, poured in through the window. The mattress beneath her was not exactly soft, but not uncomfortable. Mattress? Window?

Elizabeth sat up to look around, and immediately recognized her surroundings; the great cabin of the Black Pearl. How did she get there? She was still dressed in her shirt and pants, her boots resting on the floor at the foot of the bed. Jack's bed.

The events of the wee hours of the morn came back to her in a rush. So why wasn't she awakening to the morning stirrings of the crew on deck, still chained to the mast like a mutineer? The answer was somewhat obvious: she would have had to been unlocked and carried in while still asleep. Only one man aboard had the key.

The sound of the door being opened signaled Elizabeth to lie back down, feigning sleep. She wasn't ready to face Jack quite yet, after the night they'd had. She watched clandestinely through the curtain of her hair as the captain entered the room, rifling through a chest at the opposite side. What was he looking for? A map? A bottle of rum?

She found herself admiring his physique, his wiry torso, long legs, and as he bent over, the undeniably perfect round rear. Such charms weren't fair for a pirate to possess; they're supposed to be grotty and loathsome and totally unappealing. Well, Jack never was good at following rules. She enjoyed being able to observe him like this, and the way he moved when he thought no one else was watching.

After rifling a bit longer, Jack closed the chest, stood up straight, fingered his chin. Adjusted a rind, brushed back a dreadlock, checked to make sure a favorite bead was still in place. He fidgeted silently, and Elizabeth fought not to laugh, delighted by her private show.

He made a face at the décor of the room, still _a la Barbossa_. "Damn you and your blasted velvet, Hector," he muttered under his breath, putting his hands on his hips, then crossing his arms, and drumming fingers on his biceps with long bejeweled fingers. Jack Sparrow did not ever seem to sit completely at rest. That is, until he looked over at Elizabeth, lying on his bed. As his dark eyes turned to her he went entirely still. Certain she'd been spotted for a spy, Elizabeth hurriedly closed her eyes, hoping to appear asleep.

She heard his footsteps as Jack crossed the floor, boot heels clicking softly and slowly, as though he were walking with care not to wake her. "I've had a thought or two about seeing you there in the morning' light before, luv, " he murmured quietly. He did not make a sound, but she felt the slight shift of the mattress as he took a seat beside her. "Never really thought I'd live to see it, though."

Lightly, ever so lightly, he stroked her hair, and the tickling sensation sent a thrill through her limbs. "How many times are we going to bugger our chances, hmm? How will we ruin it this time?"

Elizabeth's heart thundered in her chest, she was sure Jack could see its throbbing. A part of her wanted to bolt upright in bed, to pull him to her. But apart of her wouldn't allow her to move: feeling Jack's nimble fingers caressing her hair ever so lightly, the moment was simply too sweet to shatter.

With a final sweep of fingers down her jaw line, Jack stood. "Sweet dreams, dearie. Sorry about the mast shackle. It's an apology you'll never hear while you're awake."

And with that he walked out of the cabin, not having found whatever he came in to find. Or maybe, just maybe, Elizabeth dared to think he had.


	9. Isle Agua de Vida

-1**Chapter 9: Isle Agua de Vida**

Elizabeth was experiencing a strange sense of déjà vu, a scene from the past echoing from her memory, playing out again in front of her. The merciless Caribbean sun beating down upon her, she watched Jack perform that strange stork-like walk across the desert island they'd been marooned on together, seemingly now an eternity ago.

Only this time, the tables had turned considerably. It was now Barbossa who stood to be left for dead on the island, now under a watchful guard as Jack worked to make good on his promise to his crew. Jack jumped up and down, once, twice, three times. Elizabeth knew what came next; she'd lived it all before.

Jack disappeared beneath the sand, and bottles began appearing, tossed up and caught by eager hands of the crew. Elizabeth felt oddly detached form the scene: the excitement escaped her, of gaining access to L'Agua de Vida. It wasn't that Jack wouldn't share with her, she was certain, but she felt rather uneasy about the whole situation. It smacked a bit too much of playing God for her tastes. Jack, of course, had no qualms.

Still, there was a certain freedom in the ability to die, she wasn't quite ready to forsake.

She stood away from the others, and soon turned her back on the scene for a view of the blue blue waters stretching out to eternity. Or at least, so it appeared. The edge of the world, as it were.

"Bein' here make you feel a bit nostalgic, luv?"

Elizabeth turned to look at Jack. He clasped a new bottle in his hand, and seemed smug as ever.

"Oh, a bit."

Jack smirked, and slung a friendly arm around her shoulders. For a moment she was seven years younger, sitting in front of a bonfire with a legend in the flesh, terrified he would try to ravish her, and hoping a little that he would. "Ah, the things I wanted to do to you that night...but I didn't, because you were just a girl, on the cusp of true womanhood." He waved his had animatedly. "Remember how I restrained myself?" Gold teeth glinted in the sun.

Elizabeth leaned in to Jack, enjoying his body so close to hers, but also grateful for the limitations their present location provided. "You mean, remember how I got you so drunk you passed out, and then I burned all your rum? Yes, its one of my fondest memories."

Jack's face fell, and he pursed those expressive full lips, raising an eyebrow. "Not something you want to be remindin' me of, if you be wantin' a ride off this rock, darlin'."

He made to walk towards the longboat, the goals of the landfall completed. "I don't think I would have nearly as much fun with Barbossa here," she admitted, following.

"And don't you forget it," Jack whispered in her ear. Unable to resist the proximity, he nibbled her earlobe, ever so gently between his teeth, before walking away with something of a spring in his step. Elizabeth stood stuck in mud, shocked that he would be so brazen in broad daylight, even if most of the crew was too busy passing around Agua de Vida to care if a whole armada of British Navy Ships appeared on the horizon. Much less their captain making a pass at Elizabeth, which was old hat when they were together.

"Fraid this is where we part ways," said Jack to Barbossa, swaying the way he did when sea-accustomed legs were forced to negotiate a more unyielding terrain.

"I'll give Francisco your regards, if I see him," said Barbossa as Elizabeth walked past. The singing ring of a sword leaving scabbard caught the attention of all nearby who had before then not paid heed. Hector found himself once again staring down at Elizabeth via the pointy end of her sword.

"With an attitude like that, it would seem to be in my best interests to simply kill you now," she said coldly, eyes glinting like flint. Barbossa glared grimly, but replied nothing. With the heart of her husband at stake, quite literally, he didn't wish to push her. He'd seen her kill men for less before. "But maybe not. Maybe if you do come across our friend Francisco he'll do the job for me, because you failed at your end of your deal."

Barbossa stared glumly around at the crew who had attained that which he'd sought for the past five years to no avail. His stare then tuned back to Elizabeth, hard as rock and cold as ice. "There's no where either of us can hide, _Mrs. Turner._"

With a sneer truly worthy of a Pirate King, Elizabeth stalked away to the longboat, leaving the rest to follow her tracks.

"I'm not the one who always wants to run or hide," she grumbled. "I'm always the one who votes to fight." But there was an uneasy feeling in her gut, and a near crippling weight upon her shoulders. At that moment, maybe she wouldn't have minded a nice safe place to hide.


	10. Love Bite

-1**Chapter 10: Love Bite**

The celebration that had begun on the island raged on, relocated to the Pearl, but surprisingly as night fell things quieted down a bit. Having moved on to their classically beloved pastime, many of the crew had gone to sleep already, either by choice, or passing out into an alcohol induced stupor. Still, Elizabeth felt apart from them, and surprisingly so was Jack. He held his own bottle of rum close, but since boarding back onto the Pearl, he hadn't once left the helm. He was having his own celebration, communing with the ship he loved so dearly.

And Elizabeth too, felt a bit off in her own world. It wasn't her own doing though. As soon as the sun had sunk below the horizon, and indefinable weight pressed down upon her mind. _Don't fight, for you are already mine._ Chills ran havok down her spine, and certainly not from cold.

How many leagues were between they and the vampire? It was impossible to know where he was now. But the most alarming element of it all was his presence in her head. Jack too, was aware of Francisco's hunt of them, though from a different sort of evidence.

Dark shadows in the water kept pace with the Pearl, triangular dorsal fins cutting through the surface of the water. Where it was no new novelty for sharks to follow ships, feeding on the detritus tossed overboard, this was downright unnatural. In his previous encounter with Senor de Gama, he'd found out first hand about the strange brand of control the vampire seemed to have over the beasties of the deep.

In fact it was a well placed chomp, or series of them, that had sunk his last vessel. The shark had been as long as the boat itself, one of the huge great whites sailors see only on the rarest of occasions, if ever at all. On a ship as big as the Pearl, it mattered little, they were safe as long as the crew stayed out of the water, or out of the longboat...still, it made him uneasy. He'd sailed long enough to know the sea held many a mystery in her depths. He couldn't help but wonder what else the vampire could conjure up from the depths.

Besides the obvious lack of privacy in her own head, Francisco's presence in her mind unnerved Elizabeth for other reasons as well. Could he read her thoughts? Pick through her memories and knowledge like a book? It was impossible to know. And should they happen to meet again, which was likely, and he managed to roll her under with his eyes once again? All could be lost. She held a very important secret in her mind. Will was counting on her.

Fondling the pistol in her belt, she entertained a rather morbid solution to their dilemma, before pushing it away. No, it didn't have to come to that. Not just yet. Looking up at Jack so contentedly steering his ship, she had a different plan.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

"Ello, luv," said Jack as Elizabeth made her way up the steps, with what at least seemed to be genuine pleasure. He held out his bottle of rum in offering, and she took it without a word. He watched her swig without even a wince. "Not sure what I think about this new habit of yours. One the one hand it pleases me down to my boots, seeing as I knew all along you'd come over to me own side, but at the same time your newly acquired tolerance makes it deuced difficult for me to get you drunk."

Elizabeth took yet another swill, and handed the bottle back. "But you seem to forget, Jack, that you've had much more luck with me sober, God help me."

Jack smirked. "You mean you had the luck...so to speak, before we were interrupted."

Elizabeth smirked, quirking one dark eyebrow. "Was it luck, or skill, Captain Sparrow?"

"You decide."

A sly smile spread on her lips. Jack found this interesting. Very interesting, to be exact. "Seems someone is decidedly _no longer _feeling guilty, as it were."

She leaned against the railing, arms crossed. "I have other things on my mind at the moment. Such as, if a vampire plunges a dagger through Will's heart in anger when he realizes my oh so moral husband will not comply with his demands, my own indiscretions just don't seem to be of much import."

"Perhaps that's reason enough to not worry about the heart, then. Or at least reason enough for _me _ to not worry about the heart..."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. "You could say that. Perhaps, you have no real reason to worry about the heart, except for the fact that Will is your friend."

"We're...friend_ish_. Never quite been the same ever since he saw you kiss me...never mind the fact that you viciously killed me afterwards..."

"I brought you back," she quipped, completely unapologetic.

Jack downplayed the reaction he felt inside, rolling his eyes flippantly. But secretly, his insides lurched at her total lack of remorse, even though the deed was more than five years past. There was a coldness about her that unnerved him still. Could he really say he trusted her again? Not entirely. Maybe never completely ever again.

"So you did, and I thank you kindly. So now what's all this about the heart?"

"I need your help." He'd heard this before. It made him wary, and she could see the instant suspicion shining in his black eyes. Intent to assuay his worries, Elizabeth slipped underneath his arm, so she stood in between him and the helm. Jack found this new proximity to be interesting, to say the least. And distracting. Meaning it was dangerous. Meaning he liked it anyway.

"How's that?"

And she leaned forward to tell him what ailed her mind, whispering in his ear. Her breath against his skin was sweet, but the words sent his mind a reeling. But so did the feel of her soft hair against his cheek, that sweet womanly smell that was most completely hers engulfing him, and the hot line of her lithe body against his front. It simply wasn't fair at all.

At the finish of her tale of woe he leaned back to look in her eyes, the color of cocoa and luminous as honey poured out in the sun. "You're banking an awful lot on me, luv. More to the point, an awful lot on my ability to think of some clever solution."

"You'll figure something out. You always do."

"You don't think that maybe all too often that's the solution to the messes we get into?" Truthfully the thought of taking on yet another crisis freewheeling and dealing made him feel tired. But only a little.

"But it usually works out well."

He searched her face. Was she teasing him? No, she was completely and totally bloody earnest. She believed in him. God help them both. "Usually." Jack leaned forward, slowly but surely trapping her against the helm. "Although lately I've been trying to figure out how to get you alone in my cabin, and I haven't had much success with that yet."

_Give it time, _thought Elizabeth, but she did not voice it aloud. He needed no encouragement whatsoever. He began to close the remaining space between them, as though to kiss her. With her back to the helm one would think it would have been a bit difficult to evade him, but she managed, ducking from his lips to her latest area of interest: his neck.

She licked the skin lightly, tasting the salt and sweat that once again flavored Jack Sparrow's skin. He stood quietly, content to let her have her way for now, whatever it was she had in mind. Encouraged, she leaned against the steering captain, molding their bodies into one perfect line. He groaned as she kissed his neck, ever so gently. Scarlette, Giselle, and all the others, were never so gentle, so delicate with their ministrations, if there even ever were any.

Perhaps it was new curiosity. Siren or not, Elizabeth could still be considered inexperienced in this game, though she was a quick study.

As she laved attention on the pirates' skin, a sudden impulse struck her, to bite him It was so strong, so completely encompassing for a few blinding moments, that she nearly sank teeth into his skin immediately. But at the same time, the idea was so alien to her, so strange, that she resisted. And then she realized, the thought by no means had been of her own design.

Horrified, terrified, she recoiled from Jack, ducking under his arm again faster than he could catch her. "He's in my head," she hissed alarmedly, hands gripping fistfuls of golden hair, pulling with intense distress.

Sensing something was more wrong than he could immediately make out, Jack threw the rope on the helm to keep the Pearl steering true. "I very nearly took a chunk of flesh out of your neck!" she exclaimed. "A sensory memory struck me, of the hot sticky rush of blood after opening a vein, the coppery taste in my mouth...it wasn't my memory, my impulse. The bastard's in my head!"

Elizabeth's wild eyed look alarmed Jack. It was the look of someone about to do something stupid. Usually it was only the whelp he had to worry about for that. "It's alright, Lizzy," he said, taking a step towards her. She held up her hands, as though to ward off a blow.

"Don't touch me," she cried. "You can't trust me now, God knows what he can make me do..."

"Elizabeth..." she evaded his arms once again, leaping upon the railing of the ship. "I'll put a bullet in my head before I give you what you want!" she shouted wildly out at the black waters. Her only anchor to the ship was a hand wrapped around a stretch of rigging. "You can't have me! You can't have any of us!" she screeched.

Seeing her precarious balance on the railing, and thinking of the lurking predators that awaited her should she fall, Jack leapt forward, dragging her down with an arm around her willowy waist. She struggled against him, but he held fast, weathering the storm of her sudden fit. "Easy, luv!" he exclaimed, struggling to keep hold. She did not struggle as a girl anymore, but as someone who truly knew how to handle herself in a scrap.

"Let go of me! You can't trust me, let go of me!"

"Bloody hell," he swore as she tore away, but soon found herself entrapped in his arms once again. He crushed her to him, one arm around her waist, the other hand pressing her head to his chest. "Easy there," he soothed again. "He's not going to get any of us." She quieted but quivered like a leaf, just waiting for the wind to tear her away from her branch, from all she'd ever known. "It's going to be alright," he assured her, petting her hair. "I won't let Francisco get his mitts anywhere near the heart, savvy?"

She nodded, but could not speak. A sob had risen in her throat, was stuck there, refusing to come out but also refusing to let any other sounds past. Finally it passed, and slowly Jack loosened his hold, no longer feeling as though he needed to subdue a madwoman ready to plunge herself into the deep.

"You're a good man, Jack," she said quietly, relaxing against him. "I don't care what you try to make the rest of us believe. Deep down, you're a good man."

Jack sighed. At that moment, he felt so tired. Exhausted. Of everything. Of life, that had no discernible meaning, yet they humans had to endure the misery and joy of it, every day.

For once, thoughts of seducing Elizabeth slipped his mind. He simply wanted to lie down in his berth with her, pull her soft warmth near and fall into a deep sleep to the steady sound of her breathing. He wanted to lose himself in a world all their own, use her as a shield from it all, even if only for a night. It was a comfort, a sweetness, he'd never been offered from anyone but his mother, many _many_ years ago.

"Just don't go tellin' anyone, it'll ruin me hard won reputation. Savvy?"

"Savvy." she agreed quietly, settling into the warmth under his chin. The storm had subsided, and they rocked in the waves, wondering what would come next. Jack had learned long ago that try as he might to predict it, there was no way to bloody know.

Oh, now this was funny, he thought. For once in his life, Jack Sparrow actually had an idea of what he wanted. Elizabeth. Not for always, but always for sometimes. Every few months, he would love to go on a good Elizabeth binge.

He nearly laughed, and nearly cried, because all this was something the immortal Jack Sparrow seemed he couldn't have. Will was a million miles and a million worlds away, ant still the pirate couldn't escape the whelp's shadow in her heart.


	11. Where's The Thump Thump?

**Chapter 11: Where's the Thump Thump?**

Hector Barbossa could not remember the last time he'd been so idle. He was not a typical pirate: unlike most others, he did not use any and all of his spare time to laze about the deck swilling rum. He used it to draw charts. Read. Make plans for their next business venture. That's why he was a good captain. A great captain! But somewhere along the line he'd misstepped. Jack Sparrow and L'Agua de Vida alluded him, and eventually sneaked up from behind. Clever bastard.

Was he losing his edge? Getting old? Should Hector Barbossa not have been seeking immortality, but a nice warm nook ashore?

Not bloody likely. So he sat on the beach, his only bottle of rum in hand, divested of all his finery but trousers and shirt sleeves. He'd checked the old rum runner's hold, Jack had divested the island of every last drop of any consumable substance. The old pirate watched the sun slip below the surface of the water, watched the pinks and oranges and purples of the sunset, the blue of the water, all fade eventually to an inky black.

"Damn you, Jack Sparrow." he sighed, taking a swill from the bottle.

"Jack Sparrow, you say?"

Barbossa had not detected a new comer's approach, yet he was not especially surprised to find himself suddenly sharing his little island with the vampire Francisco de Gama. In fact, he'd very nearly expected it.

"Ah, we meet again, Don de Gama. Yes, Jack Sparrow has made off with my ship. So if you have a need to find him still, we could go take it back this very moment." He smiled, which actually more closely resembled a snarl.

"But I'm afraid I don't need him anymore," said the vampire. Barbossa dared a glance up at him. Francisco's dark clothes swathed him in shadow¾only a diamond ring on his finger glinted in the bright moonlight.

"Found another way to World's End, did you?"

"_Si_, I have. Someone who has been there before. I believe you know him, a first mate Joshamee Gibbs."

Barbossa nodded. "So he has, and yes I do."

"And I was surprised to learn that you as well have been there, Captain Barbossa. Or is it just Barbossa, now?"

"Captain, if you please." Hector's bravado made the vampire smile, ever so slightly.

"You lead me to believe I was in need of this chart to find my way, when you could have taken me all along." There was a note of venom in Francisco's otherwise calm voice, that made Barbossa's blood run a tad cold. But still, he refused to be browbeaten, and a little extra rum is his system only reinforced his stubborn defiance. "I've been there once and I don't intend to voluntarily ever go again. I won't be bullied."

"No, I did not think you would be. You are an exceptional, if not unlucky, man. So tell me, what progress have you made on your end of our deal? If your news is promising, perhaps I will not eat you."

"Well then, you have a few options. You could go chase down Elizabeth Swann cum Turner, who is aboard the Pearl this very moment, to get the key we so sorely need, hoping to catch them before they've gone and done something infuriatingly clever to protect the heart of friend and husband. Those two have a history of being exceptionally devious, you know."

Franciso was obviously not pleased with this option. "Or?" he asked, voice impatient.

"OR, you could give me a ride off this abominable island, and we could go fetch the trunk containing the heart right now. I've seen her map, and I'm confident in my ability to lead you to it."

It occurred to Francisco that if he wished he quite simply could extract the information from Barbossa's trap of a mind. But the man could still prove useful in times to come, he was a dangerously clever man.

"And how might one get into this chest?"

"A key, though I cannot claim to have it in my possession any longer."

"I presume your know where it is?" Francisco asked with a lordly sneer.

"That I do. Let's find the chest first, then go to Elizabeth Swann--er, Turner, for the key."

"And you, my friend, are hoping we would have occasion to find her on the Pearl, where you will find your ship, and L'Agua de Vida, no doubt."

"No doubt."

Francisco nodded. "Very well. Let us go, then."

"I knew you'd see things my way."

**IIIIII**

Elizabeth stood at the railing for much of the night, unnervedly watching the dark beasts easily keeping pace with the ship, cutting through the water. Jack steered the Pearl silently, keeping an eye on the lady, not wanting another possible mishap a la railing. Time passed, seemingly hardly any at all, before another came to the helm for the next shift. Jack did not know him, but the pirate smiled a single toothed grin at the legendary Jack Sparrow, pleased to be aboard. "Get some sleep, Cap'n. I'll steer 'er true."

Reluctantly, Jack relinquished the helm, fingers sliding lightly from her wheel peg as a lover would give a parting caress. It was good to be back again. But even the immortal Jack Sparrow needed rest, and fatigue from a full day of hijinx pulled at his eyelids.

"You comin', luv?" he invited. She looked to the pirate thoughtfully. Somehow without a word, she understood Jack was simply offering he a place beside him to sleep. It was an inviting idea, yet she knew at this point in the night she would only toss and turn beside him.

"I think I'll stay here," she said. "I have a lot on my mind to work out."

Jack eyed her suspiciously, gauging her state of mind. But he couldn't keep track of her as one would a child, now could he? Although he felt the protective impulse, it was an insult he knew she would not bear. "You promise to not go and do anything drastic, eh? No dancin' on the railin' like?"

The new helmsman raised a curious eyebrow at this comment, wondering what he'd missed. Elizabeth smiled grimly. "I promise."

Jack nodded. "Alright then. G'night." He wanted to kiss her, but suppressed the urge in front of the new man. Who knew when they all might be seein' Will again?

**IIIIIII**

"This Elizabeth must be quite a woman, braving all this to hide her husband's heart," commented Francisco. They had sailed to the island, actually rather near to where Barbossa had been marooned. It was jungly and mountainous, sweat poured off Barbossa in buckets, keeping up with the path he'd committed to memory.

They'd climbed, crossed slippery rocks over streams, scaled rock face that seemed nearly impassable, even swung over a deep crevice on vines. It was arduous for the human, not so much the vampire. At times Barbossa was even carried during steep climbs, to make travel easier and faster. Barbossa knew, from hearsay of vampires, that they possessed super human strength. But until then, he did not understand truly understand, the strength that lay in Francisco's arms. The vampire lifted Barbossa as though he were merely a feather, made leaps bearing the extra weight as though he had wings.

Hector couldn't help but muse on the journey Elizabeth must have made, on a mission to safeguard her husband's heart. She must have made the journey all alone, spent the night on the island, possibly even several, finding the perfect place to hide it and mapping an exact course, should she need to find it again.

After their last adventure together Barbossa had acquired a respect for the young woman. She'd turned into quite a pirate. Vicious, wily, deadly with a blade, even more so as the years had passed. Could he think of any other woman who equaled her sense of adventure, her steel to do the impossible because it needed to be done? No. none came to mind.

He suspected the famed Grace O'Malley may have been a kindred spirit, but the Irish pirate was not in his long list of acquaintances. So he finally answered the vampire's esteemed comment with one of his own. "Aye, that she is. A foe to be reckoned with, I will caution you."

"I had very little trouble with her, upon our first acquaintance, in Tortuga."

"Perhaps, but you caught her unawares. She's a bit more prepared now, I should expect."

Francisco smiled, a poisonous curl of lips. He had not been able to establish quite the connection of control he wanted, but he still could pry a little into her thoughts. Shed had quite a fit earlier this evening, he sensed and savored her fear like a fine wine.

Jack Sparrow would not always be there to keep her from plunging.

"Very few people are accustomed to my kind," Francisco said confidently. "I do not expect difficulty in keeping her on her toes."

Barbossa shrugged. He didn't really like the vampire much, and a small part of him was rooting for Elizabeth's side. But, however, the other ninety percent of him really, _really_ wanted the Agua de Vida. And at the present moment in time, that seemed to indicate working with the bastard.

"Well, let's find the chest first, eh?" Intent on just that, Barbossa pulled aside some vines, revealing a cave cutting into the side of the mountain. They were high up, and the view would have been stunning by daylight. It wasn't half bad by the stars and moon, which hung full and bright. Even with the extra blue light, Barbossa still had trouble with the darkness.

Had it not been for torches of dried palm fronds bore by a few of Francisco's fanged crew, he wouldn't have been able to find the way. The torch bearers went first into the cave. It began as a passable cavern, but as they traipsed on the passage narrowed and narrowed. Barbossa began to be alarmed, knowing that Elizabeth was skinny as a stick and could fit into spaces far smaller than what would accommodate his girth.

Finally it got to a point where no one could continue. "We won't fit, _Capitaine_," said Carlos, first mate and one of the torch bearers. Francisco raised a dark eyebrow, and by the unforgiving expression upon his face, Barbossa expected him to mutter, "Then make yourself fit."

Instead, the next words from Don de Gama were addressed to him. "And what directions from here, Captain Barbossa? Are we close?"

"Supposedly its in a niche containing our prize at the end of this cave, however far that may be. Maybe we need Elizabeth after all to fetch it. Or a child..."

Francisco waved it off. "Perhaps most men cannot fit into the crannies her svelte figure can pass, but I will make do." Barbossa had seen many a strange thing in this world, but he still doubted his eyes for what happened next. Francisco melted into a silvery mist, and slipped past them down into the depths of the cave.

"Did he really just turn into a wisp of fog?"

Carlos turned glittering black eyes to him. Hector couldn't help but feel unnerved, being alone in the cave with the two remaining vampires. "It is a talent we lesser vampires do not yet posses," Carlos finally explained, fangs glinting in the fire light. "Shall we wait outside?"

The cave was stuffy, close, and smelled heavily of bat guano. Outside it was. They sat outside the cave, hunkered down on some mossy rocks and waited. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the coming dawn, and Hector noticed the two vampires eyeing it nervously. "Perhaps we take shelter in the cave?" one suggested.

"Or perhaps we return to the ship." All three jumped at Francisco's sudden appearance. Even the vampires did not detect their captain's approach. He stood quietly, the chest clasped in his hands. Barbossa hadn't seen it for a while, its presence echoed of an old adventure and the days of Davy Jones' tyranny over the sea. Those days were gone now: a new heart beat in its place. But now that Francisco held the chest in his slender nobleman's hands, Barbossa couldn't help but wonder for how long.


	12. Slice of Heaven

-1**Chapter 12: Slice of Heaven**

Sometime during the night, Jack was vaguely aware of Elizabeth slipping into bed with him. It felt right as rain to drape an arm around her waist, pull her against him, and slip back into sleep. It was only with the arrival of morning light streaming through the window, and a bit of wakeful consciousness did Jack remember that this _wasn't_ common place. In fact, it was _quite_ special. Extraordinarily so. It was an opportunity not to be slept away.

With the intention of waking her, but also of exploration for exploration's sake, Jack's fingers slid across her curves, over the worn but clean cotton which he recognized as one of his own shirts, and the smooth expanse of long thigh peeking out from beneath it. He realized, much to his personal delight that she was wearing one and only one article of clothing, once again.

Elizabeth stirred at his gentle touch, but did not wake. His fingers moved on, roaming to caress her hair, blindingly golden in this light. He traced her forehead, the straight line of her nose, and then on to that plump bottom lip he longed to take between his teeth that very moment. She stirred, and suddenly Jack found himself staring down into those lovely café con leche eyes. "Mornin', luv," he said with a smile.

"Good morning," she greeted, rolling over onto her back. Her lips curled in a lazy, sleepy smile.

"Oh yes," agreed Jack. "It is a _very _good morning."

She reached up to brush a stray raven lock from his face, and he caught her hand, planting a kiss on her palm. Eyes never leaving hers, so dark and all consuming, he slipped one long digit between his lips, scraping at the pad of her finger in such a way that sent shivers down her spine. "Jack..."

Smiling wolfishly, he pinned her hand above her head, leaning over her. "Any last minute objections before I bring a slice of heaven down to this humble spread of sheets of ours?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath, eyeing him with something close to fear in her eyes. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea," she confessed. Jack groaned with frustration, his forehead falling down to rest against her collarbone. Here came the righteous indignation now, the pirate woman pretending to be much more morally troubled than what she really was.

"I think it's a great idea," he mumbled against her skin. She smelled of her soap, of salt, sweat, and ever so faintly lingered the scent of vanilla. "But I s'pose I have been wrong before."

"It's just--"

"Just what?" asked Jack, lifting his head to meet her eyes. His tone was teasing, yet there was and edge of something she couldn't quite identify. "Just you laying in my bed, of your own free will, in _nothing _but a shirt, _my _shirt, I might add, pretending you don't want me to make love to you?"

Her chest clenched. Her protest did sound ridiculous, put that way...but it wasn't exactly like that. Well, not _exactly._ "You weren't offering me sex last night, when you offered a place in your bed, and we both know it," she pointed out.

He laughed, and the sound lacked its usual flavors of joie de vivre. It tasted of bitter disappointment. "So come morning you banked on this new revelation of yours, that I would keep my distance between the sheets because I'm _such _a good man." His knee slipped between hers as he said it, tearing a soft surprised gasp from the back of her throat. The sound of her reaction to his touch was absolutely maddening; she was lucky he didn't take back his shirt that very moment, toss it to the floor and take her wildly. She watched him wide eyed, this terrible and beautiful pirate leaning above her. "Well luv, I hate to break it to you, but I'm _not _that good."

She expected him to kiss her then, hovering so close she could taste his breath. She expected him to crash over her like a twenty foot wave, the way he always did, overpower her with desire and ride the swell to the finish. Worse yet, she _anticipated _it.

So it was much to her surprise, and even dismay, when he rolled off of her, and turned his back on her, curled on his side. "I won't beg for it," he grumbled. "And I won't force it. Anything we've ever done, _Elizabeth_, has never been anything more than something you already wanted. You're just too yellow-bellied to admit it."

Elizabeth lay completely still, chewing on his words, masticating till her head hurt and forcing herself to swallow. Too yellow bellied indeed. Everything he brought out in her, every bold attribute, even her quick to flare temper, were the things about herself she liked most. That she took great pride in. And still somehow, every now and then, her mind clung to these odd little silly notions of propriety she loathed, so deeply ingrained within her person. Carved by polite society in her brain with a vicious, dull blade.

Everyone always seemed to have an agenda for Elizabeth. Her father wanted to marry her off to a nice gentleman, because that was what was done. Norrington wanted to marry her because she was _a fine woman_, whatever that meant. Yes, he loved her, but James would have never considered it without that presupposed criterion. Will, love her as he did, placed her on a pedestal in his head, expected her to resemble the angel her comely features suggested.

And what did Jack do? Of course, he'd used her person to meet his own ends before. Took her hostage after rescuing her from a watery grave to escape Norrington and his soldiers. Well, he had gotten into the mess all because of her, so quid pro quo. He'd also used her affection for Will to find the dead man's chest. He'd nearly sacrificed her with the rest of the crew to the kraken, but he came back. And then she killed him. QPQ yet again.

She could count a dozen other instances, but none of these things, _none _of them ever demanded something of her she was not, or couldn't be. Time and time again, Jack was the one who held a mirror to her face and challenged her to see her true self. That was the greatest gift, the greatest _freedom_, anyone could ever offer a human being. And time and time again, she threw it back in his face.

Feeling like a troll, Elizabeth realized her protest, her rejection, of the man who had saved her in more than one way time and time again, had probably stung Jack deeply. Not just his ego, that was a superficial shell, cast up on the surface to deflect the little, everyday assaults the world throws at us. No, this went deeper. She feared she'd cut far deeper than she could have ever imagined possible.

"Jack..." She reached out to touch his side, and much to her surprise, he swatted at her hand, as one would a naughty child, or as one would handle an unwelcome pawing on the street by a drunkard. She recoiled from the pirate as though he'd tried to bite her, wishing she could see his face. Her insides clenched with fear, her ribcage squeezing her organs. Most notably, her heart. She was painfully aware of its throbbing in her chest, fueled by anxiety and desire. _Just too yellow bellied..._

Jaw clenched, she tried again, grasping his upper arm and pulling him onto his back. Before he could struggle she was upon him, leaning over him, where he could not escape quite so easily.

But he did not struggle. He lay complacently beneath her, watching her with those smoldering black eyes, at that moment so full of sorrow. His gaze was so piercing, she felt certain he could see straight through her, past the muscle and bone of her fragile mortal flesh and straight to the soul. What was written there? It seemed he was the best person to tell her, at times. "I..." He lifted up a hand slowly towards her face, and speech turned to ash on her tongue, watching his approaching fingers.

Ever so gently, his thumb swept below the corner of her eye, coming away with a single trembling tear that glittered in the pure morning sunlight. She hadn't even realized the presence of tears in her eyes, until that moment. He studied it quivering at the tip of his thumb, as though it were a jewel of great worth, before turning his gaze back to her. "I ain't worth this, luv," he said quietly, eyes boring into her. "If that's all I really do for you, do yourself a favor, and take the door."

Then she was aware of the tears in her eyes, painfully so. She fought to hold them back, frame trembling with unrealized sobs. She leaned her cheek into his hand, smearing the tear against her skin. She closed her eyes, because she simply couldn't look to his own while saying what suddenly needed to roll off her tongue. A confession, an honest admittance. "I love who I am when I'm with you, and who I've become simply because of meeting you, Jack. So if it is _I _who is not worth _this, _say the word, and I will go."

She opened her eyes to find Jack giving no answer, only sitting up to meet her, pressing his lips to hers as he still gingerly cupped the side of her face. His mouth slanted against hers, kissing her slowly and hungrily. She suddenly found herself beneath him again, sighing from his weight settling down onto her as he kissed her. All her plains and valleys seemed to fit with his own, perfectly coincided, perfectly matched.

The line of Elizabeth's supple body pressed against his was intoxicating, but not enough. He wanted bare skin. Needed it. His hands roved beneath her shirt, _his shirt_, fingers sliding across her soft abdomen and up her ribcage. "Off," he growled in between kisses, and she all too happily complied, raising her arms above her head. There was no feeling of guilt within her then, only hunger for the kind of intimacy with another human being she'd long been denied.

She did not think about Will, or the fact that her infidelity would indeed be condemned as worse because it was Jack she chose to share it with. And yet, who else _would _it be, but Jack? It was not a casual lust that had undone her will of steel, but a long unfulfilled desire to be apart of a man so similar, so seemingly wicked as her. Someone harsh and remorseless, passionate and free and unapologetic for taking what he wanted, because no one would give it to him otherwise.

But that morning, she was giving herself to him, and he understood it was a gift, as sure as anything wrapped in a box with a bow.

It felt as though there was a cord strung through Elizabeth, tightened to a near unbearable tension by Jack's mere presence, much less the maddening way he touched her. He teased the cord, tested the tension, plucked at it to evoke the most amazing sensations.

Soon the shirt was peeled away, and tossed into a meaningless heap on the floor across the cabin, soon joined by Jack's pants. He settled down upon her once again, and something akin to lightening jolted through him at feeling, at long last, her completely bare skin slide against his. He could barely stand the bliss.

He smoothed his hands over her torso, fingertips learning contours, tweaking a nipple and tearing a gasp from her throat. As his fingers lightly brushed the curls between her legs she nearly screamed, she wanted his touch, yet she didn't think she could stand to wait for Jack to pay such attentions to her. She wanted to feel his full weight above her, pressing inside her. It was not just pleasure she craved with him, it was intimacy. Her curiosity coming in full force: she wanted to _know him. _

"Come inside me," she pleaded, reaching to clasp him in her hands.

He was stretched taut and hard with desire, yet the skin was so velvety soft to the touch. Jack groaned as she squeezed him, explored him. Was he bigger or smaller than Will? She nearly sobbed at that moment, because she couldn't remember. She'd only been with her husband once, before duty tore him away.

Jack shook his head, refusing with a smile. He was far too aroused right then. "I haven't waited this long to be inside you for it to end so quickly."

How long _had _he been waiting? Since that ill-fated kiss aboard the Pearl? Or before that, the day he proposed mar-i-age and tortured her with his knowledge of her own curiosity? Or did it go back even farther, to a sultry Caribbean night marooned upon a deserted island, two stranded souls dancing wildly about a fire, drawn like moth to a flame to warm themselves in something polite society would loathe.

She whimpered as he sat back, kissing a line down her inner thigh. It was torture, plain and simple, she was sure he meant it that way. That clever mouth and tongue worked their magic, until she felt she would explode into a million pieces if he made her come, and she would die if he didn't.

Jack could tell she was nearing close, by the way she breathed, and her hands scrambling for some hold, whether it be in the bed sheets or his hair. Just as she was certain that shimmering moment would release her once again, Jack retreated, crawling back up her body to rest on his elbows above her. He tut-tutted her with an infuriating smirk she loved and hated. "Not yet, luv," he scolded.

Elizabeth arched her back up to him, hungry for his skin. "Please," she pleaded. He knew she wasn't referring to her own release, as she rocked her hips against his, wrapping a long leg around him again, but to his own entrance to the gates of heaven. He could wait no longer, and hovered above her, ready to slip inside.

"Look at me," he whispered, wanting to see everything that passed her eyes when they finally became one. She'd held them closed in anticipation, but opened them at his request, only to fall into those fathomless black orbs of his. Very slowly he slipped inside, and she sighed so sweetly as his weight settled atop her. It hurt a little, but no where near anything the pain Will had caused her, their first and only union.

Besides, she was used to her time with Jack always having some edge to it--why should making love to him be any different? Elizabeth stared up at him half liddedly, and he found at that moment he couldn't read her. Was it rapture? Pain? Happiness? Pleasure? He realized in a triumphant and terrifying moment that it was none of those: it was trust.

Slowly, he moved inside her, and she reveled in the close contact, the feeling of finally being with another human being again. Her fingers traced over his back and the round curve of his buttocks, sending shivers down his spine. It was almost too much, the pleasure of finally sinking inside her warmth, coupled with her hands upon him, fingers digging into his back, and the soft sounds that passed her lips as he moved inside her. How could Will have gone back to the sea, after only experiencing her once? Jack suspected that had he been in the whelp's place, he would have found a loophole by now, weasled his way out, and back to her.

But Will wasn't like Jack. Will was an honest man. A martyr. He would do his honest duty to the very end. That was why Elizabeth was there with Jack in the first place. Was why she let Jack touch her, explore her secret treasure. He knew he was second to Will, first and always. At that moment, Jack did not feel bitter about this. He wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.

_So bully to you, dear William, I'll stay here and take care of your girl while you're away._ Jack couldn't keep her and she couldn't keep him, but there was no reason why they couldn't enjoy each other for a little while. Elizabeth certainly seemed to need it, and maybe, just maybe, so did Jack. Because maybe, just maybe, the sea and the Pearl weren't his only loves after all.

However, truly, at that moment, Jack was not thinking about love. Its complications, its implications, its exhilarating perks and nasty little demons. In fact, he wasn't really thinking about anything per se. he was much too caught up in experiencing the pure sensation that was Elizabeth, for anything coherent to pass though his mind using language faculties.

He slipped a hand between them as he pushed inside her, stimulating her clitoris once again, and she writhed beneath him, burying her face in the bend of his neck. He felt her body clench around him, and he very nearly lost it. It did not take much of his skillful manipulation, soon he released Elizabeth to a shining paradise that shook her to the core.

It was the compounded sensations that finally took Jack as well, her muscles clenching around him, tightening, body arching against his even as her legs around him pulled him deeper. He cried out as the orgasm took him, jolting like some kind of lightning from his loins spread all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Elizabeth's arms wrapped around him as he collapsed on top of her, nose buried in her hair, inhaling her scent with a deep, shuddering breath. She stroked his hair, and her light touch, just the slightest grazing of nails, upon his shoulders and neck sent after-tremors shuddering through him.

They'd only retreated to relaxing in each other's arms for a short while, breathing still labored when a shout of "Port Royal ho!" reached their ears. With a groan, Jack pulled Elizabeth closer, for once frustrated with the Pearl's exceptional alacrity. "You sure you don't just want to drop off Norry and slip out with me?"

Nested under the pirate's chin, curled up in his warmth and bare skin, that was exactly what she wanted to do. "I can't," she sighed, and Jack could hear the pure reluctance in her voice. Perhaps even dread. He'd known that would be her answer, but he took pleasure in knowing she really wanted to stay with him. And then a sort of terror gripped him. Their whole plan was based on his ability to slip under that bastard de Gama's nose, while she distracted him, all by her onesies. Alone. With a monster that already seemed to have some sort of hold on her mind.

"I don't think this is one of our finer ideas, luv." In fact, it seemed downright _stupid_.

"Neither do I," she confessed. "But it's the best one I've got."

Best one for Will, at any rate, thought Jack, gazing down at her mournfully. But that was the name of her game, it seemed. After all, Will was her husband.

Jack was only...her pirate.


	13. Collector of Beauty

-1**Chapter 13: Collector of Beauty**

Elizabeth had wasted no time in beating a hasty retreat from Port Royale. True, she wanted to save the innocents of the town which she had come to resent just as much as she felt protective of it. But it was also made easy by a certain Commodore.

She still resented the accusing yet heartbroken look he'd given her, upon her exit from Jack's cabin. She could have defended herself to the shocked James, could have made up lies, or excuses. Could have said something along the lines of _its not what it looks like. _

But it was _exactly _what it looked like. She and Jack partook of each other, explored each other, even as they felt they already knew each other. Peas in a pod. Elizabeth found at that incriminating moment she hadn't the patience or even the conviction to apologize for it.

Shaking his head, James had retreated to a different part of the ship, anxiously awaiting a return to Port Royal, where he could lick his wounds and avoid Elizabeth. Had he really gotten his hopes up all over again?

Five years, attending to her, that little routine of morning fencing and breakfast. It all meant more in his head than in her heart, but he saw now. A few days with Jack was all it really took to undo her. Upon exiting the Pearl, James simply couldn't restrain a look of hostility at the pirate slipping through his cool façade.

Had Jack been in his usual flippant mood, he would have made the most mischief possible of the moment. It would have been too easy of an opportunity to pass up. Be that as it may, Jack was troubled. He still didn't think Elizabeth facing fang boy by her onesies was a great idea. In fact, he thought it was awful idea. But short of locking her in the brig, he couldn't think of any way to stop her.

Norrington walked down the gangplank, leaving Elizabeth and Jack to stare at each other wordlessly. She wanted to kiss him, but knew she couldn't, feared he would, and even still hoped for a forbidden press of lips. Instead, she asked, "How will you find me once you've..."

"I've got me ways." He had the compass still. Although it was only reliable when he knew what he wanted, he had a feeling this time it would prove to be a useful tool. That in itself unnerved him a bit. More than a bit.

Elizabeth nodded, obviously reluctant to go. But she had to. They both knew that. Jack smiled grimly, as though he understood all that was running through her mind. He was thinking it too.

So now two days had passed, and Elizabeth found herself behind the helm of the Swan's Freedom II, far away from Port Royal, dark vast waters shifting all round her. Francisco's finned beasts came to flank her ship nearly as soon as the sun set. One nearly spanned the entire length of the boat, its great dorsal fin cutting through the surface of the water. On a vessel so much smaller than the Pearl, perhaps Elizabeth should have felt quite unnerved. However, she did not. In fact she felt rather numb to the fact. She knew Francisco wanted her alive, and suspected the sharks were there to help track her, more than anything.

And she expected him to find her, quite soon. In fact, she was rather surprised he had not already. The galleon he captained could certainly overtake her vessel.

So what are you going to do, once he catches you? She asked herself. He would demand the chest, and she would take him. Give him the key. He would open the chest, and then...she would worry about it later. Who knew what circumstances would present themselves?

Suddenly, the ship lurched, as though struck from the side by a reef. It happened again, more forceful this time. What had been a cold numbness in the pit of Elizabeth's stomach soon clenched, and transformed to fear at long last. Looking over the side of her boat, she could see that the big sharks were no longer merely flanking the Swann's Freedom, but had taken to biting chunks out of her hull. Three great whites went at the task full force, bits of wood not swallowed by gaping tooth-filled maws trailed behind them, floating, pitifully above the waves.

Perhaps she'd miscalculated. Perhaps Francisco had found a way into the chest, and no longer needed her alive. Her boat lagged in the water, and slowly, she became aware of it beginning to sink.

"Bugger."

**IIIIIIIIIII**

It was sitting in the bucket of a crow's nest, now only a few feet from the water, that the hulking hull of a dark galleon blocked the light of the moon. "Perhaps I could offer my lady a line?" called a familiar voice, as a shadowy silhouette appeared at the prow of the galleon. A shark passed by, dangerously close, its black pitiless eye staring up at her unfeelingly, before slipping back below the surface. She was losing her nerve.

"If you could spare the inconvenience," she called back up, disdainfully. Although his face was swathed in shadow, Elizabeth felt sure the Spaniard's lips were curled in a triumphant smile.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

Elizabeth felt as though one could tell a lot about a captain, by examining his cabin. Barbossa's heavy velvet, fine silver, and academic paintings smacked of a man who considered himself nobility, a man above normal men, a lord of the ship he commanded and the sea he sailed upon. And indeed, he was a pirate lord, one of the Brethren of Shipwreck cove. But so was Jack Sparrow.

Jack's taste in cabin décor ran entirely different, it did not mock the society that shunned him with a display of lavish wealth he'd stolen from it. It echoed of a man full of...curiosity. A man who had sailed to foreign lands, and did not merely trade goods, but brought pieces of the culture away with him. All the baubles in Jack's cabin, sandalwood elephants from India, African masks, porcelain blue and white and scrolls of dragons twining round twisting clouds. Curiosity.

Norrington's tastes ran to the crisp, clean, precise, and nautical. Framed charts on the white washed walls, every instrument in its proper place upon the desk. Sterile. And what did her own husband's cabin look like? She could guess, but would never know, she feared.

Don Francisco de Gama kept living quarters aboard _La Isabella _unlike any she'd ever seen. Dark silks that shimmered in the moonlight draped the windows, which also boasted heavy shutters to keep out the daytime sun. Dozens and dozens of pots were placed around the room, containing the most exotic flowers, night blooming orchids of white and velvety pinks and violets. As numerous as the flowers, cages containing a striking variety of birds hung from hooks around. Some tittered prettily, some slept, their feathers puffed out around them, and some simply stared back at her quietly, with sad dark little eyes.

No creature who has known the freedom of the skies enjoys life in a cage. Elizabeth sympathized with the little creatures, she knew the feeling.

All of the birds the vampire kept for his pleasure boasted some sort of exceptional coloring or pattern of feather, and his latest catch had been adorned no differently. She'd been divested of her sailing costume, and a dress of dark blue silk that shimmered violet in the moonlight replaced it. Francisco watched her inspect his room with eyes nearly the same color as her garment. The chest rested upon his desk, the key he'd relieved her of beside it. Apparently the vampire was in no great hurry to collect his prize. Or perhaps he already had.

Finally he broke the silence. "Can a man who loves flowers so deeply truly be so bad?" he asked, lips curled in a smile that only revealed the slightest hint of fang.

Elizabeth turned her head towards the vampire, chin held at an almost coquettish angel. But by the sharp look in her eyes, he did not think she was in much of a mood to flirt. Her gaze unnerved him in a way, and that was no small feat. Her searching mahogany eyes were so lovely, yet so...penetrating.

They reminded him very much of a different pair of eyes, of which he had not gazed into for so long. So very long. But all that was about to change.

"You are a collector," she finally said. "An accumulator of fine things." He watched her carefully, for the tone of her voice he could tell it was not meant as a compliment. "You surround yourself with beauty, but not for a love of beauty itself. For a love of what you believe it reflects in you. It's no more than vanity."

For a moment Francisco's face darkened, and a twinge of fear tingled at the base of her spine. But whatever hostility Don de Gama felt at her insult, he concealed it well, behind a noble mask of mild amusement. "You do not mince words, do you, Mrs. Turner? I find you exactly as Sparrow's memory holds you." He rose slowly from his chair. "I suppose I'm beginning to understand better how you could remain on a man's mind, years after your last encounter."

This struck Elizabeth as odd, and morbidly interesting. Spying on Jack's thoughts, through an enemy, no less. "You have seen Jack's thoughts?" she asked, feigning disinterest. Francisco's lips curled slightly, knowingly. She could not fool him, he could sense the emotions coming off of her. Taste them nearly, though it wasn't _exactly _how he knew. A vampire's senses were a complex and difficult creature to describe.

"Briefly, in the encounter before our last. He escaped, clever man that he is, much to my dismay. So you see, I knew you before meeting you. Meeting a body in person after knowing them through another's memory does not always coincide with the person they truly are. But Senor Sparrow sees you for exactly who you are, doesn't he, Elizabeth Swann?"

Elizabeth bit her lip. The comment crawled beneath her skin, just as the vampire knew it would. "Mrs. Turner," she snapped curtly.

His cultured smile widened. "Very well, _Mrs. Turner. _No need to be uncivil."

Civility. To this man. The thought made her want to gag, and sent a small squirm of revulsion through her insides. "I do not appreciate being stalked, or my husband being threatened for some aristocrat's petty designs. So for this I only offer you my honesty, Don de Gama."

"And had I asked you for the heart in a civil manner, we could have been friends?" he asked mockingly, obviously amused.

"I doubt that could ever be an option," she replied truthfully, fingering the meaty petal of an orchid.

"That is a shame. Because you remind me so very much of my Isabella, that I should think I would perhaps like to keep you around. Perhaps I will, should things not go my way..."

Elizabeth turned her attention to a portrait hung on the wall, a lavish oil of a voluptuous _senora_. Isabella, no doubt, the woman who all this fuss was about. She was a beautiful woman, or at least _had been_. It was not the rendering of her comely features that made the work though, it was the woman's eyes. She suspected the artist had captured them perfectly, they stared out piercingly at the viewer, but also with sorrow. How could Francisco hang this and not feel accused? Did he simply not see? He wouldn't be the first man to be oblivious to such things. It made Elizabeth's imagination wander, to how she had died. Would she want to be ripped from a resting place to return to this domineering man's side?

"Would you keep me in a cage, like your birds?" she asked, still captivated by the portrait.

"I wouldn't need to, to add you to my collection of fine things. I keep people in other ways."

"Ah, so you're a typical tyrant." Elizabeth turned to the vampire full on , hands clasped behind her back. "And what of Isabella? How did she die?" she asked. "I wonder if perhaps she wouldn't want to come back to you."

At long last, Francisco allowed his irritation to show through the carefully constructed mask. "Perhaps you should not speak of things you have no knowledge of."

"I have no knowledge, but merely suspicions based on observation. Years of it. The same sad story repeated by history, over and over again. Because if I remind you of her, then I suspect she too would resent being caged."

"Says the woman who keeps her husband's heart locked way in a box. Buried deep in a cave in the middle of the Caribbean sea. You hid it quite well."

Elizabeth raised one dark slash of an eyebrow. "Not well enough, apparently."

"Shall we take a look inside?" Francisco picked up the key so ceremoniously placed, threaded it into the lock, and tuned. There was an eerie hiss, and Elizabeth remembered the first time hearing that box opened, a much different heart locked inside.

With a glance at Elizabeth, the vampire clasped the lid with pale tapered fingers, flipping it open. Her heart thundered in her chest, for she knew what he would find. After a moment of staring down at the box, Francisco's so carefully composed expression contorted with rage.

The box was empty.


	14. Jack of Hearts

-1**Chapter 14: Jack of Hearts**

Jack stood in his cabin, a most curious thing having found its way into his possession. The heart of his rival, thump thumped in its box upon his desk. He peered over the lip to glance at the mass of red meat, the most important muscle in the body, still twitching from electrical impulses sent from a brain worlds away.

A talented ship's surgeon had once told him he suspected the whole body was just a lump of highly sophisticated meat, manipulated by signals sent from the brain. One would suspect that this particular phenomena was a bit more complex than that, but who knows? One is all and all is same, the eastern mystics would say. The longer he lived and observed this strange life, the more openly inclined Jack was to believe them.

Shuddering with a wave of squeamishness, Jack shrunk away from the heart and closed the lid, suddenly unable to look at it now. What the bloody hell was _he _going to do with it now? What could possibly be done with it, that Francisco wouldn't eventually be able to track it down by prying into some mind or another? He touched his neck where two neat fang marks had once pierced his skin. Agua de Vida or no, he was in no hurry to meet with that vampire again. And yet he suspected he would have to.

The thought didn't thrill him. And he was running dangerously low on the Agua...after the festivities earlier, thoroughly inundating his crew and cementing his captaincy, at least for a time, he only had a single emergency flask left, hidden somewhere in his cabin. He was a bit drunk upon hiding it...even more so than usual. Finding it again would be an adventure in itself.

A brilliant idea in mind (not that he would admit he had any of a different sort) Jack grabbed the special made box and went to the hold. One thing was for certain when Elizabeth set out to hide something, she did not muck it up. He imagined her heading out in that little boat of hers the Swann's Freedom I, all by her onesies, with two boxes and one goal in mind.

"No map, love?" he'd asked her, as she explained her case to him, first hiding the lock box without a heart as a ruse, then the second, the real heart, in a simple, non descript wooden box, on a deserted jungle island with no name, no lines marking it on the map. "Youbloodypirates,"Elizabeth had said, rolling her eyes. "When are you going to learn that if you don't want someone to find something you've hidden, don't make a bloody map!"

Jack had blinked. Yes, she had a point. But pirates, treasures, maps...they were nearly inseparable. In fact he was almost disappointed that she didn't seem to understand. Or perhaps she understood all too well.

In any case, the directions she'd given him were perfectly precise. He'd found the heart with little to no trouble. But now, he had to _do _something with it. Intent on just that, he dug out an old iron chest from deep in the hold. It had been there for god knows how long...it could finally be put to some use. A cannon ball inside with the box, a sturdy lock, and voila! Jack pranced up the stairs, brandishing his _creation_, if he may be so bold. "Calypso," he said at the railing, speaking out to the open ocean. "I have the utmost certainty that Will is serving you with unwavering disgustingly eunuchy loyalty. So now, its your turn to do the same for him."

With a grunt and a splash, the whole business was said and done with. Jack watched the bubbles rise as the chest sank to the depths of the ocean. He wouldn't know where it landed, and neither could he fetch it, or tell any meddling vampires where to find it. Easy as that, Francisco lost.

Well, maybe not so black and white as that. Few things ever were. Perhaps the vampire had been thwarted, but neither could Jack claim he'd won quite yet, with Elizabeth undoubtedly in the vampire's clutches.

Well, so what were they going to do next? The crew of the Black Pearl was suddenly in possession of a lot of time to kill. But it wasn't as though he owed Elizabeth a rescue. She'd made her choice to be a hero. And besides, she'd _killed _ him once! There was no reason at all to go for her. No reason at all...

He thought of the day she'd left, of them getting dressed after that fateful call of _Port Royal ho! _Still nude as the day she was born, she approached Jack, reaching around to something in her hair. His mouth went dry as he watched her approach, breathtaking and golden as a goddess in the ephemeral morning light. She drew out that little piece of shiny he'd noticed glinting in her hair before, but had never gotten around to satiating his curiosity. Other parts of her had been on his mind. Upon closer inspection, he'd realized the little piece of metal was a _key. _

Reaching up, her bare arms burned his skin as she made to tie it in his own hair, caused him to shudder. "That's all you need," she said quietly. He knew she meant just to find and open the second box, the real hiding place of Will's thump thump, but it was still a bloody lie. Something clenched in Jack, threatened to break.

His hands slipped around her waist, pulling her against him, and the sudden heated silk of bare skin burned them both. He slanted his mouth over hers, taking their last kiss before they would part ways, for God knew how long. If things did not go well, maybe even forever. That was always a possibility. Always. The kiss was a gift but demanding, a new exploration of charted waters, heaven with the hard bite of bitter reality. It was all the delicious contradictions they somehow embodied within themselves, but that was the truth of life. It was that truth, that vicious beauty, they reveled in.

He flipped open his compass, curious where his truest interest lay. He had many of them, he was a well rounded man, after all. There were maps and adventure and treasure and rum, the sea and sailing and taking hold of his own destiny, salty wenches and his latest and greatest, Agua de Vida. He was hoping it would be pointing towards Agua de Vida. He could have _used _some more Agua de Vida. However, upon opening it, the red needle spun, wavered, and finally rested on a point much more decidedly north than Cuba.

Bugger.


	15. Slave Ship

-1**Chapter 15: Slave Ship**

Elizabeth woke with a splitting headache, painfully aware of every aching bone in her body. She lay on a settee, feet hanging off the end, still clad in her blue silk dress. The neck of it was torn, a bit stained with blood. She reached up to touch her sore neck, and grimaced at the feel of lacerated skin. Her evening came back to her in a flash.

Upon seeing the empty box, Don de Gama had immediately turned livid. Before she could even think of retreating he was upon her, delicate wrist clasped in a viselike grip. "Where is it?" he hissed. "You have defied me for the last time, woman. Where is the heart?"

She felt the strength in his hands, capable of crushing bone, as he tightened his hold upon her.

"You'll never find it!" she spat.

Francisco bent her arm behind her back, twisting the joint until tears welled in her eyes. His other hand twisted in her hair, wrenching her neck at a seemingly impossible angle.

His eyes burned blue, consuming her, pulling her beneath the cold dark waters of a raging storm. "If you will not give it willingly, I will simply take," he growled. She recalled his snake like strike, those fangs sinking into her neck, and then all went black.

Dizziness, nausea, coursed through her, and the room spun. She felt so tired, all she really wanted to do was curl back up on the settee. But something not quite fitting in the Don's Cabin caught her attention. Hector Barbossa sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, watching her intently. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Turner."

"Is it so late?" she asked groggily.

"Oh yes, you've been sleeping for quite some time now. I expect you lost a lot of blood." She touched fingers to her bite again, and winced.

"Yes, I would expect I have."

"You keep surprising us all, you know. I think now that had you really thought I could lead you to Will's heart, you would have killed me on the island."

"Perhaps, or at least have kept you within sight and reach. I _sort_ of like you, at this point."

He smiled, a baring of decaying teeth. "Aye, I _sort_ of like you too. Would you like some fresh air?"

"Yes."

She went with Barbossa out the cabin door, and could barely keep her feet. The bright sunlight burned her eyes, for a moment her immediate impulse was to retreat back into the darkness of the cabin, and slam the door. But she did not, instead strode out, and leaned on the railing for support. The salty breeze whipping past her skin, through her hair, was a welcome relief.

However, the sight before her was not. The ship obviously could not be crewed during the day, so it seemed Francisco had acquired assistance for the task. Slave natives of the Americas, brown skin bronzed dark in the sun shuffled about the ship, almost as though in a trance. There was no slave driver present, no master at arms. It seemed Francisco controlled them through his will and will alone. "How can they be set free?" Elizabeth whispered, horrified.

"I don't' know," answered Barbossa truthfully. "Probably only by killing Francisco himself. He doesn't seem to willingly release the things he's caged." A sick feeling lunged in her stomach. She was destined to be like one of them? She would kill herself first. She really, truly would.

"So what did you trade for passage off the island?"

"Oh, nothing but the heart. But I fear I may be getting into far more than what I bargained for." For a moment, Elizabeth recognized fear in Barbossa's eyes.

"Are you afraid he will make you one of his puppets too?"

Lips curled in a sneer, he shot a glance in her direction. "Aren't you?" Oh yes. Elizabeth's worries often circled around some person or another trying to strip her of her freedom. That moment was no different.

"There is another item against our friend Francisco," said Barbossa distantly, a note of regret in his voice.

"Yes?" She felt a certain sense of dread at hearing what else the horrible vampire had done.

"Hoping he would be of some use, Don de Gama picked up our good man Joshamee Gibbs in Tortuga. He's no longer aboard."

Elizabeth's face fell, her lower lip trembled. Gibbs, no, not Gibbs. She turned her face away, so Barbossa would not see the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She changed the subject, tone cold in some effort to keep a stiff upper lip. "So I assume you are somehow hoping to gain the Pearl out of the end of this mess."

"Oh, that would be ideal," Barbossa admitted unashamedly.

"Jack found his trunk in the hold with all his things. I'm not sure he will spare your heavy velvets the same courtesy."

Barbossa shrugged. "If I have the Pearl, then it matters not. But I expect we'll be seeing her soon. _La Isabella _can't out run her, if she's a mind to find us."

"And why would he? It would be best in Jack Sparrow's interest to keep as many leagues as possible between the Pearl and this ship."

"Ay, it would, if Jack were a sane man. But we both know he's daft, and that there's something' aboard he may be wanting, so perhaps we best be thinkin' about what we plan to do, when he catches up."

Elizabeth watched Barbossa walk away, picking his way through mind washed natives to cross the deck of the ship. What did she plan to do? What COULD she do? She wasn't even certain Jack would be coming for her. Why would he? She knew better than to hope Jack Sparrow loved her. Many a woman had surely made that mistake, and she wouldn't be one of them.

Fond of her? Yes. Found her interesting? Not out of the question. Found her amusing? Well, they certainly seemed to find plenty of _amusement _in each otheras of late... But stick his neck out for her when he already possessed everything he needed to be perfectly happy? Not a chance.

She had been his lover, but she was not his beloved. Cold truth, far as she saw it. And as a fellow pirate, she'd simply fallen behind. So with her fate left in her hands and her hands alone, what would she do with it? She would think of something. She always did.


	16. Dutchboy

**A/N: 2 chapter bonus today, friends...like the idiot I am, I forgot to post a chapter, though it seems the story still has flowed without it. Go read the new chapter "Where's the Thump Thump?"... things should be a bit more in order now. Sorry about that. **

**Chapter 16: Dutchboy**

As darkness fell, an eerie feeling settled over the ship. The natives dropped their tasks and shuffled down to the hold, quickly replaced by the vampire crew. Elizabeth mused that although they seemed to have the upper hand, really they were no better than slaves them selves to their capitán. The democracy of a pirate ship did not reign here. It was Francisco's will and his will alone that prevailed.

One such vampire found Elizabeth at the prow of the ship, gazing out at the infinite black waters. The sea held a magnetism with Elizabeth. once she started gazing she could hardly tear herself away. She would sit for hours at a time on the beach, watching the waves. The thought would enter her mind to go do something useful, mend a shirt, repair a window. Those things didn't fix themselves anymore. Not that they ever did, but to a youth they certainly seemed to, in a mansion full of servants. But it was curiosity that kept her. She wanted to see what the next wave would look like. Always, they came ashore, but not a single one would break in the same way.

"El Capitán wants to see you," said the vampire behind her.

"I don't want to see him," she replied tartly.

The vampire gave an indignant snort. "Best you go, than make him find you. Trust me."

With a sneer Elizabeth left her post and went to Francisco's cabin. A feast had been laid out, just for her. He certainly wouldn't be eating any.

"Please, pequena, you must be famished." He sat in one of the lavish armchairs, manners and patience refreshed anew, it seemed, with a good day's sleep. Watching him cautiously, she sat down at the table. Yes, she was starving, and she had lost a lot of blood. She'd felt lightheaded all day, almost as though she'd floated through the last six hours on a cloud. She dug in to a side of mutton, with much zeal.

The vampire watched her eat with interest, pleased to see she had not yet given up. That was good: they had a long journey ahead of them. "You are a clever woman," he mused, almost as though he were talking to himself. "I was so furious, to find in the depths of your mind, that you had charged Jack Sparrow with holding the heart again. I could chase after him and hope to finally find this heart of yours...but I have a better plan."

"Oh? And what would that be?" She masked her fear with sarcasm, but knew he could sense both.

"I seek a favor from the new captain of the Flying Dutchman, and I sought to ensure my success with the persuasion of the heart. But it occurs to me, why trouble myself any longer, when I already have his beloved wife in my possession?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the proposition. "What makes you so confident? Not all men care for their wives so much."

"Come now, Mrs. Turner, remember that I know him through you. Through your memories of him. A brave man, a loyal man, who has always loved you...he will do much still, to see you safe, I think."

"Can you be so sure? You yourself said people have a tendency to...skew the truth of who their loved ones truly are in their minds."

Francisco chuckled to himself. "I do not think this is a case of it."

Elizabeth weighed the new development in her head. Barbossa was aboard, he could certainly lead them to World's end. Perhaps it would even be to their advantage, to sail in a world where her husband ruled the waters, that Francisco seemed to know little about.

What did the vampire know? Hear say, at best, it seemed. The whole scheme smacked of a desperate man, and desperate men often do rash things. It seemed to be something of an advantage, for she and Barbossa.

Despite their differences, there was little doubt in her mind that she and Hector were fighting for the same cause once again. An unexpected sense of confidence settled over her. If Francisco intended to trade her, he at least had to keep her alive. Of course, his definition of alive could deviate greatly from anything desirable to her... Elizabeth's spirits fell again. And even if this insanity called a plan should work, and he released her, what was to keep him from returning for her on any given night, Isabella or no? He was a collector, after all...he did not easily relinquish the beautiful things he had acquired, she suspected.

She realized she would never truly be safe, truly free of him, until at long last the wicked being ceased to live...

Yes, she would much prefer a rescue. Or an execution. Both. Wouldn't it be nice if Jack Sparrow were on his way at that very moment. Deuced convenient, it would be. She still didn't think it likely.

Francisco watched and felt all these emotions roll over and off of Elizabeth, seemingly with much amusement. But her obvious calculation also put him en garde; he did not want to underestimate this woman again. It would be best to put her under his power as much as possible. As long as she was alive and breathing, its not as though her husband would be able to tell the difference in her states of consciousness.

She stood from her meal, and he with her. Elizabeth eyed the vampire warily. "Your dress is torn. We should find you a new one." He reached up to finger the scrap of silk hanging loose from her bodice, and she swatted his hand away indignantly.

"Don't touch¾" Suddenly she found herself in his crushing grip, one hand tangled in her hair, holding her head at a painful angle; the other arm pinning her to him around her waist.

"I can behave as a gentleman, but only if cordial behavior is reciprocated. Do you understand?" he snarled.

"You're no gentleman, and you never were, I'll wager. You're just one of the common many, who hide behind the title."

She met his eyes defiantly, risking their hypnotizing pull.

"Sao Feng once mistook you for a goddess," he breathed over her lips. "I saw it in your memory. And I'm beginning to understand why. You are absolutely unwilling to submit your soul to anyone. But I _will_ break you, if need be. Make no mistake of it."

Elizabeth thought back on all the foes she'd faced. Barbossa as an immortal skeleton had been particularly unpleasant. Cutler Beckette was no picnic. And Davy Jones the, heartless fiend... "Many have tried," she hissed. "And they're all dead now. One might be wise to make note of it."

Francisco snickered. "But did you kill them yourself? Because the most vivid murder _I_ saw in your mind was of your lover Jack Sparrow."

Elizabeth's eyes opened wide at the mention of her lover, and it apparently brought Francisco great pleasure to watch her squirm. "Oh yes, I know about that too. Best we keep it to ourselves, eh? Lest your husband decides not to care so much about your life after all. That could be disastrous for both of us."

With a glare that would fell lesser men, Elizabeth spat, "You're quite right, I did not kill those who tried to break me. But Jack did. Every one of them. Perhaps you have cause for alarm after all."

"Perhaps, but you yourself have doubts of Jack. He is a self serving man at best, you can count on no rescue."

"Jack is an unpredictable man. We count on nothing, but he always amazes us."

"At least, he amazes you."

Francisco eyed her lips, a barely concealed gesture of desire. "As much as Senor Turner may resent it, I doubt anyone could blame you for your infidelity with the pirate, or anyone else. Such a waste, for a woman as yourself to sit at home, wasting away..."

"Yes, a total waste," quipped Elizabeth, leaning away as far as he would allow to avoid the vampire's lips. She'd had quite enough of them on her skin. "Perhaps your Isabella felt the same, if we're so similar, as you assert. A fiery woman left alone in the huge villa you no doubt left her to tend, while her great Francisco de Gama went off to conquer foreign lands, tame the native heathens, and bring back all the gold. Who knows how many men she found comfort in the arms of?"

Her smirk turned to a grimace of pain as his fingers dug into her skin.

"You--"

"Ship ahoy!" came a cry from outside. "Capitaine!"

With a warning glare, Francisco stalked out the door, leaving Elizabeth bruised and alone. She did not stay to lick her wounds though, she soon followed the Capitán out the door. A glance revealed Francisco at the railing, looking through the spy glass behind them. The wind had begun to pick up, and the stars were no longer visible for the swathe of clouds they'd sailed in to. "Es la Perla Negra!" cried one of the vampires.

"Jack," she whispered to herself, not daring to say it any louder. The sound of distant cannon sounded, the Pearl gauging distance to target. Francisco snarled, knowing if Jack had them in its sights, it would certainly catch them before daybreak. Elizabeth's Spanish was not fluent by any means, but she caught the gist of his barked order. "Extinguish all the lights! We'll loose them in the dark!"

She watched as they obeyed, and the whole ship went dark. With moon blocked by cloud cover, they were fairly invisible. Jack could sail right past them, and not even know it, maybe even be ambushed himself...unless the compass was leading him. But could she count on that? No. not at all, Jack never really knew what he wanted.

Knowing what she had to do, Elizabeth snatched up an oil lantern, and hurled it against the main sail. The flames quickly spread across the splattered oil, and then over the canvas itself. Up and up they raced, seeming to roar with hunger and triumph. A giant torch now illuminated _La Isabella_, a crackling orange light flickering over the vampires staring in horror and fear.

"_Puta_!" The slap came out of no where, only open handed, but still it sent Elizabeth reeling across the deck. She rolled and came to a stop against some barrels. The vampire did not leave her for long, and soon wrenched her to her feet, dragging her down to the hold. Her head spun, and she felt as though she would throw up at any moment.

He dropped her in a heap on the floor of the dingy hold, and clamped a manacle upon her wrist. "These are strong enough to hold my own vampires, _Mrs. Turner_. You wont be able to get out of this one."

"I'll wait patiently here, while the Pearl's cannon tear your galleon to shreds."

"Well then, you'll be going down with her."

"See you in the water. I have a certain advantage with the ferryman on the other side..."

He would have stayed to banter more, but a loud crash shook the ship from above. The sail falling? Cannon fire finding its target? Time would tell. She strained against her wrist cuff, testing the possibility of slipping her thin hand through it, but to no avail. She looked around the hold, desiring something to orchestrate her escape. She started when in her searches her eyes met dozens of captives, the slave sailors press ganged from their villages to sail this ship of the damned.

"_Que_ _pasa_?" asked one, much surprising her. He was covered in facial and body tattoos, marking him as different from the rest. A leader? A shaman?

Elizabeth's Spanish was haltingly simple, but conveyed the point. "_Mucho_ _lucha_," she answered, pointing up. There were murmurs to her response in a different language, with curious clicking noises and swallowed tones she couldn't have emulated for the life of her.

She asked the question that seemed most relevant to their survival. "_Dónde están las llaves_?"

"_En el bolsillo del capitán_." Francisco held all the keys. She wasn't surprised. So how _were_ they going to get free? If the Pearl prevailed and _La Isabella _sank, they would all go down with it and Jack wouldn't have a clue what he'd done.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

Jack Sparrow cursed as all the lamps extinguished on board the galleon, and she slipped into invisibility under cloud cover. Bloody hell. The wind was picking up, there would be a storm soon. And in this kind of darkness they could practically sail right into them.

An unexpected bout of luck brightened Jack's view, really quite literally. Suddenly, the main sail of _La Isabella_ caught fire, and nearly instantaneously it traveled all the way up to the crow's nest, a bright orange blaze that illuminated the entire silhouette of the ship.

"Atta girl, Lizzy," he thought to himself, because he knew with her penchant for taking advantage of the incendiary properties of objects pirates held dear, it could be none other than her handiwork.

"Full canvas!" he barked. "I want to catch this Spanish mongrel within the hour!" There was indeed a bit more speed to be coaxed from the sails, especially with the coming storm.

And then, another event passed through the lens of his telescope, that Jack found to be most interesting. A flash of green light illuminated the sea, in such a way that would make a pirate think it was a queer sort of lightning. But he'd seen that phenomena before, and watched as the night suddenly took a turn for the advantageous. Almost as though the sea had opened up and given birth, a ship surfaced from the depths beside _La_ _Isabella_.

Things were looking up for Elizabeth, at least so it seemed. The ship was the Flying Dutchman.


	17. Down With the Ship

-1** Chapter 17: Down With The Ship**

Don de Gama watched gravely, as what could be none other than the Flying Dutchman surfaced from the depths of the ocean, or perhaps a whole other world. He couldn't be sure, this business of the ferryman was still foggy, at best. Things were taking an unexpected turn once again. As though it weren't enough to lose the main sail to that bitch's meddling, he did not expect to come face to face with her husband so soon.

His crew had started an assembly chain, scooping buckets of water from the sea to at least keep the fire from spreading to the rest of the ship. Lightning crackled, and he knew the deluge that would soon fall from the sky would help matters a bit.

With not even an order, but a thought, his men moved down below to prime the cannons, should things not go the way he hoped.

A man who could have been none other than the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, William Turner, strode to the side of his ship. "Francisco de Gama!" he called angrily, hand upon the hilt of his sword.

De Gama returned the hostile greeting, he himself striding to face Turner. "William Turner, I presume." Turning to his mate, he snarled quietly, "Fetch the bitch, bring her here."

"I've been told you are in possession of someone very dear to me." His scowl illuminated by firelight was particularly menacing.

Rodrigo returned from below, dragging a worse for wear Elizabeth by the arm. "Will!" she exclaimed with astonishment, amazed to see none other than the Dutchman itself alongside La Infanta.

"That I am," confirmed Francisco smugly. "Perhaps you would care to come aboard and discuss the terms of her release?"

Will eyed the burning main mast with a critical eye. "Your vessel doesn't quite seem seaworthy. Perhaps you would care to come to this side? And bring her with you."

"I'm afraid I cannot," answered Francisco. It was not a lie, for the vampire truly could not cross the water between the two ships under his own power.

"Very well then, we'll discuss them here. Release my wife, and your ship will be spared. Otherwise, I'm afraid nothing will prevent me from finishing the job she no doubt has already begun," he said, gesturing at the flaming mast.

Elizabeth studied her husband, who she had not seen in five years. He carried himself like a sea-captain now, several years of strange waters under his sash. There was something new about him now, something distant and cold. Was it the Dutchman taking hold of him? Or was it simply being a man without a heart?

"I have a different proposition. You--"

Francisco was distracted, for all attention everywhere was focused behind him. He turned to see a ship black as pitch glide up to flank _La Isabella_'s other side. "Game's up, fang boy," called a familiar and oh so irritating voice to Francisco's ears. "Hand her over nicely, and we won't blow this ugly piece of floating flotsam to flinders. Ain't that right, Will?"

Will was surprised, and yet somehow _not_ surprised, to see Jack entering the fray. The man had an uncanny ability to show up at the most unexpected times and places. "Spot on," agreed Will coolly.

Wrenching Elizabeth from Rodrigo's grasp, Francisco held her like a shield before him, twisting one arm behind her, the other hand gone to holding her neck. He laughed maliciously, but it smacked of a dog growling trapped in a corner. "As I was saying, before we were so rudely interrupted, is that I have a different proposition for you," he continued calmly, attempting to hide his discomfort in the unexpected situation. I understand you have the power to bring those lost at sea back to the shore, of the living. Return my wife to me, and I will return yours."

A figure familiar to Elizabeth walked up to stand next to her husband. Gibbs. He must have been the one to alert will to the goings on of mortals on the other side.

All went silent, all eyes turned to the Captain of the Dutchman. Jack found himself repeating a mantra of old to Will in his head. _Don't do anything stupid. Don't do anything stupid. _

Will's brow furrowed. "I can't." he finally answered, voice bland as toast but cool as ice.

"Can't, or _won't_?" asked Francisco through grinding teeth. His voice had gone low, his fingers digging a bit deeper into Elizabeth's flesh, either intentionally or out of fear. Things were _not _going as he'd hoped they would. She squirmed against his grasp, to no avail.

Will shook his black bandanaed head. "It's impossible."

Francisco could taste the truth of Will's words. The man did not lie. Then all this had been for nothing? All his hopes of reunion, smashed on the rocks with just two words. _It's impossible. _Sadness welled up inside him, but was quickly overshadowed by its uglier counterparts: hatred, and rage.

Any esteem Jack felt for the whelp quickly evaporated. Telling the vicious vampire honestly that he can't have what he wants, while said vampire is holding the throat of the woman they wanted to save? Stupid, _stupid _Will.

A flash of lightning split the sky, and the rain finally began to fall. Will read the hatred written across the vampire's face, and realized he _may_ have done a foolish thing.

Before another word could be said, an earsplitting crack caused everyone to jump, and the main mast began to topple over. It fell with a thud, making a burned bridge between the Dutchman and _La Isabella_. The unexpected chaos jarred a gunman down below in the Dutchman, and the crash of the mast was soon followed by the boom of a cannon. There had been no order given, but the violence soon escalated out of control.

The Dutchmanreturned fire. Not to be left out of the fray, the Pearl returned fire from the other side. The rain poured from the sky, a near drowning deluge that extinguished what was left of the flames on the main mast.

Provided with a convenient bridge, the vampires lost little time in boarding the Dutchman, and vice versa. Francisco shoved Elizabeth to Rodrigo again, snarling an order to stow her away again, before he himself entered the fray.

Elizabeth felt weak, and yet the will to survive took hold. Rodrigo underestimated her, and she managed to wrench free and disappear into the chaos of the battle. Fearing Francisco's wrath, Rodrigo would have pursued the troublesome woman, had he himself not been distracted by a pirate engaging his full attention to survival.

Don de Gama soon found himself crossing blades with the irate husband and lover both. In spite of Francisco's superhuman speed, Will was an avid swordsman, and Jack was craftier than the devil himself; a combination of the two kept him well on his toes. "I remember your wife," said Will, slashing for the vampire's eyes, and only just barely missing. "Isabella de Gama."

"Why can't you bring her back?" Francisco snarled, deflecting a slash from Jack and stab from Will both. "Why is she impossible, but others are?"

"She died a long time ago. I've already taken her across. She's returned to the Great Ether. The nothing. The everything. Ready to start anew. I'm sorry, but you'll never see her again."

Jack listened quietly to Will's explanation, and felt a certain vindication of suspicions he'd always held about true death. There was a cycle of death and rebirth, constant change and renewal. This was true in all things, the smallest most mundane systems to the largest chains of cycle. Humans were just too stupid, too blind, too absorbed in their own drama to recognize it.

"I don't believe you!"

"She wouldn't have wanted to come back anyway," Will jabbed, both physically and verbally. "She already escaped you once."

Francisco paused with surprise, and was nearly stabbed by Jack. He parried wildly, hissing, "What are you about?"

"I remember her, you cretin, she had the saddest eyes I've ever seen. She committed suicide to escape you. Jumped ship in a storm."

Rage boiled in the pit of Francisco's stomach. "Liar! Her ship sank on the crossing!"

"True, and I met them too. But Isabella most certainly died first, I'm afraid."

"It's all for naught, mate. Hand over the girl, and we'll call this whole business off. What say you?" asked Jack, not really expecting it to be so easy.

A cold numb settled over Francisco. He'd been filled with such vigor, such hope that he would see his Isabella again, be with her, smell her hair and kiss those sweet lips...and in a few moments all that was taken away. He felt utterly empty inside, cold and cruelly alone. At that moment he decided that if he would never hold his Isabella again, Turner and Sparrow would most certainly lose their Elizabeth.

"But which do I hand her over to?" snarled the vampire, struggling to hold off his attackers. "Her husband, or her lover?"

Will froze at hearing the insinuation, startled into looking over at Jack. "What?"

Jack too blanched, fearing he would soon be on the pointy end of a blade expertly wielded by a _very _irate husband.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

Somehow avoiding the vampires, Elizabeth managed to slip back down into the hold again. The ship was listing to port, the cannon fire crippling La Infanta perhaps beyond repair. She worried for those she cared about up above, but other lives also held her attention, down below. The slaves who sailed the ship by day, held in reserve in their large holding pen by night.

They watched her fearfully, and some cried out as she raised the primed pistol she'd filched from a fallen comrade top deck. But the chief understood, and motioned for his people to move away from the lock. Keys were never convenient, but the pistol was a tried and true tool. All the captives were soon fleeing the cell, and only the chief stopped to thank her, briefly, before also running up. Water had begun to fill the hold, and came up to Elizabeth's ankles. She decided to speed up the process a bit, and rolled a barrel of powder over to the wall. She readied a long fuse, and lit it with a lantern on the wall.

Satisfied with her goal of destruction, she made to beat a hasty retreat up the stairs. However, nearly escaped, she was stopped dead in her tracks. "And just where do you think you're going?" asked Francisco, blocking the way.

"Oh...no where," she grumbled, heart dropping down to her stomach with disappointment and fear.

Francisco took a step down, limping, and gazed unhappily at the water up to his ankles. "It seems we are going somewhere, though _down _is not a desired direction at sea."

He took another step forward, and she retreated farther into the hold. "So I hear your Isabella didn't love you so very much, after all. She felt like a collectable on a shelf too, I imagine."

Francisco frowned. "I shall never be able to ask her, it seems. It is devastating to believe someone loves you, only to find they feel something _entirely_ different."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at the stab, still backing up as Francisco advanced. "True, and yet can she be blamed, if her husband is not giving her what she needs?"

"That is the excuse you women use. I gave her everything she could have possibly wanted."

"Except for her husband at home. Did you enjoy spilling my secret?" She was certain he had not missed the opportunity to create a rift, now that all was lost.

Elizabeth backed into a pillar, and the vampire pressed into her. "Oh yes, that was quite fun. By the look on William's face, I would say he will never forgive you. That is, if I thought he would ever see you again. He and Jack are fighting out their differences as we speak."

A sort of panic did a somersault in her stomach, mixed with her fear. But there wasn't anything to be done about it at that very moment. He turned up her chin, exposing a line of long neck, that her maiden name described so perfectly of her. "Ah, so you've decided end it all?" Elizabeth felt weak, dizzy, but she did not intend to give it all up quite yet.

"It's a pity, no? And I've grown so fond of sinking fangs into this beautiful neck of yours." Elizabeth hissed with pain as he did just that, but she did not struggle. The blood flowed, and he drained her quickly, knowing he did not have time to enjoy the bouquet. And yet her blood was so thick and heady, he could not help but lose himself in the rich taste. It was only a clamping feeling on his wrist that drew him back from the bliss of the blood.

Fangs bared, he pulled back to see what she'd done now. This time, her mischief had attained new heights, manifested in a manacle around his wrist. It was the one he used as punishment for his vampire crew, and her as well, not hours ago. It was one he knew he could not break free from, but he himself had a way out of it. Reaching to his pocket, he found the familiar lump that was his set of keys to be absent.

Almost playfully, she jangled them before him, before a fateful flick of wrist sent them careening into the darkness of the hold, hidden behind only God knew what. The vampire watched in horror as the keys to his salvation flew away, making a splash as they were swallowed by shadow and clutter. He had no plans of going down with his ship. He was only going to exact his revenge, then escape in the longboat...but not now.

That one small gesture of tossing the keys exhausted Elizabeth. She'd lost so much blood in the past few days, and never before had she experienced such a feeling of lightheaded detachment from the world. She felt as though she were floating two inches above it all, watching a play. Nothing quite seemed real, perhaps it never was.

Francisco's eyes burned blue, and he caught her unfocused gaze, ordering her to go fetch the keys. Absentmindedly she obeyed, sloshing through the deepening water in the direction she'd chucked them. But halfway there she stopped, slumping down to sit in the water, leaning her back against a barrel.

The order to fetch the keys roared in her mind, but she simply did not have the energy. She felt herself fading, as though she were drifting away from her body, floating somewhere above it. Was it death? It didn't feel like anything, really, but maybe it wasn't supposed to.

A shaking of her shoulders, minutes or hours after she'd closed her eyes, caused her to open them sleepily. A pair of intense dark orbs bore into hers, fraught with worry. "Come on, luv, wakeup," he urged, failing at concealing the fear in his voice.

"Jack..." she breathed, "You shouldn't be down here. The fuse..."

He looked around and noticed a fuse attached to a powder keg running dangerously close to ground zero.

"Come on, darlin'. You're not getting out of it that easily."

She felt herself being lifted into those strong wiry arms, but could no longer keep her eyes open, or really keep much of an interest in the world in general. None of it really mattered, she realized in a moment of clarity. And everything was the same.


	18. The Antics of Mortals

-1**Chapter 18: Antics of Mortals**

"Abandon ship!" barked Jack, grabbing a line to swing over to the Pearl, one arm holding Elizabeth securely to him. There was no time to lose, he knew she was fading. "Cut the lines!" The Pearl began to drift away from _La Isabella_, sliding out of reach over the water as the first explosion shook the air. The fire spread to the other barrels, and the galleon was soon busted to shreds, and with what was nearly a groan of protest, was sucked down into the inky water.

They'd won. Francisco went down with his ship, whether he'd intended to or not. Of course he hadn't intended to. She'd done it again, that trick of the manacle. Only this time is wasn't the lure of lips that lured the man to his death, but blood. Imagine Jack's surprise walking down to the hold in search of Elizabeth, to find Don de Gama had somehow fallen for nearly the exact same trick he had, that fateful day with the kraken.

The vampire had strained against the manacle, but apparently could not break free. Noticing Jack's arrival, he'd rushed the pirate, but was stopped short by the chain like a tethered attack dog. "You're too late," he spat at Jack. "Too late to save her."

It was then that Jack had noticed Elizabeth crumpled in a ball in the corner, and the fear welled up in his breast that the vampire was right.

Single-mindedly now, Jack set about proving de Gama wrong. He set Lizzy down on his berth, and immediately set to tearing apart his cabin, in search of the illusive, last remaining flask of Agua de Vida.

It seemed Will too had ended up on the Pearl in the scramble to evacuate _La Isabella_, and he entered the cabin quietly. He stood at his wife's bedside, convinced he was watching her die. He'd become quite familiar with death these past years, and its unmistakable flavor hung heavy in the air.

"Is it true, what Francisco said?" Will asked sadly, fingers caressing her hair gently. Contrary to Francisco's claim, he hadn't turned on Jack in the midst of the battle at hearing the accusation. Their pause had given the vampire a window to escape though, no doubt hunting down Elizabeth to exact his revenge, while Will and Jack were drawn into the battle again by different fanged opponents.

There was a crash, a curse, god knows what being thrown about the cabin, spilled on the floor, doors hanging open and drawers ajar in the wake of Jack Sparrow's desperate search. "Yes, but save the pointy end of your sword for me till after I've saved her, eh?" he said hastily. _Where the bloody hell was it?!_

Will felt dejected, but not as angry as one might expect. A man without a heart, he felt numb to many things that once would have upset him greatly. And for a flesh and blood woman left alone at shore, ten years was a long time. A very long time. In a way he'd expected it, steeled himself for it. And some how he'd known that if it would be anyone, it _would_ be Jack, wouldn't it? Those two shared a common ground he could never understand, never penetrate, never hope to be apart of. Lost in his musings, Will was startled as he was shoved out of the way by Jack.

Propping up her limp form with one arm, Jack uncorked a small bottle with his teeth. "Come on, Lizzy luv," he coaxed, "It's not time for you to quit this world yet." He poured some of the liquid between her lips. "Please, Lizzy."

Although he whispered, there was an unexpected urgency about him. Jack was a jokester, a trickster, even vicious at times, but Will could not recall once ever seeing a tender side. But here it was. Here it was with Will's own wife, lying in his arms. "Wake up, wake up, wake up," he chanted, pouring more water between her lips.

Will tuned away. He didn't want to watch, really. He felt so detached from the situation as a whole. What did it really matter? Working with the dead had had this effect upon him. It wasn't nihilism, per se, but simply emptiness.

An unexpected cough turned Will's attention back to the scene on Jack's berth. "Jack?" Jack's expression turned from grave to overjoyed in seemingly less than a second. "You came back for me," she sighed, not having the strength for anything louder. "You keep coming back for me."

Jack crushed her to him, relief coursing through his every fiber. "I haven't the faintest idea why," he grumbled, nose buried in her hair.

But Will had an idea why. There was something between those two that Will realized at that moment he could never understand completely. If Jack didn't love her, the feeling was so close to it for the pirate that it didn't seem to matter. Only after a few long seconds of holding Elizabeth did Jack remember he was holding the wife of another man. Of which was standing in this very room, watching them. "It seems you've cheated death once again, Jack," said Will blandly.

The anger, the hurt, the seething jealousy Jack had predicted did not seem to be present in the whelp. All in all there was a certain neutrality about him, that Jack never could have expected. Was that the price of the captaincy of the Dutchman? Apathy? "Er--aye." A remark had come to mind, about he and Elizabeth both having a talent for cheating, but decided the honest eunuch just wouldn't appreciate it. He did seem to at least still possess that infuriating attribute.

"Hello, Will." Elizabeth's head still rested upon Jack's shoulder as she addressed her husband. Truly, she had not the energy to move it. Will came to sit at her other side, and she found herself between the two men she cared for most. It wasn't so bad, really.

But Jack felt undeniably awkward. "I'll leave you two to...whatever eunuchy things you do." With a gesture he couldn't resist, a light kiss on Elizabeth's forehead, he fled his cabin. Elizabeth watched him go, amused, but also sad. Now that the adventure was over would both her men be sailing off into the sunset again, leaving her behind?

"How did you..." So many questions filled her head for Will, yet she could not place a finger on a one of them. He pulled her back to relax in his arms. It was a comfort she'd been so long denied.

"Come back?" he finished for her. "Gibbs told me of the antics you mortals were up to. My wife was in danger, so I...I simply came. I don't know what price I will pay for it to Calypso."

"Is she a difficult mistress?"

Will fondled a lock of hair, admiring the gold color in the candlelight, whose brilliance had faded in his memory. He lived in darkness now, a world of brilliant stars, but most colors faded to gray. "No, not at all. She is...she simply is. She takes care of us." There was something in Will's voice, it made Elizabeth wonder. "So...you and Jack?"

She sat quietly, unable to answer for some time. "Yes." she finally affirmed. "Do you hate me now?"

"No." His voice was so neutral, so dispassionate. Is this what happens, when a man no longer has a heart? "Ten years is a long time to be alone, isn't it?"

Hesitatingly, she answered, "Yes."

"I'm not really angry. It's strange, you know. I think I understand. Maybe even expected it. Expected it to be Jack, even. And Calypso, she--" Elizabeth felt Will stiffen behind her. "She is here."

A moment later, the cabin door opened, and in walked the goddess. She had taken the form Elizabeth was most familiar with, her tattooed face, and ink stained smile. And in her hands, she held a chest, a heavy metal one, dripping wet as though it had just been plucked from the sea. Jack watched from the doorway, curious what the sea goddess intended to do in his cabin.

Will rose from his seat beside his wife, and went down on one knee before Calypso, his mistress, head bowed low. "Will Turnah. You left you duty," she said, voice rich and strange, yet neutral.

"Yes. I had to."

Calypso gave him a considering look, almost curious. "Yes, I believe dat is tru." Her eyes turned to Elizabeth, eyeing her curiously. "Bad tings happen, when men play games wid de balances." She shot a hard glance back towards the door, where Jack now stood, but did not elaborate. "You did well to help send dat Francisco to de deep. Dis I can allow."

"Is that my heart?" asked Will, looking to the dripping chest.

"Yes. I will keep it now. Perhaps it should 'ave been me to keep it all along. Good ting you have clever friends, Will Turnah, or this could 'ave ended badly indeed."

She inclined her head to her ferryman, paying very little attention to Elizabeth or Jack. "Will you return now?" Was it a command, or a request? The goddess was mysterious; only Will could know her true wish.

"I will do my duty."

Upon hearing Will confer his promise to serve another woman, Elizabeth's heart ached. Something clenched inside, something broke, and it was all she could do to swallow a frustrated scream. Calypso turned those knowing eyes to her, as though she could sense the pain and anger coiling deep inside Elizabeth.

"Good." Calypso turned to walk out of the cabin, and Jack watched with part amusement, part amazement, as she kept walking, straight into the sea, chest still in hand.

"I must go," said Will sadly, pushing to his feet. Elizabeth too tried to push to hers, but found her legs unable to support her. Jack instinctually stepped forward to help her, but found Will already there to catch her. Not wanting to see anymore, the pirate ducked out of his cabin once again. Will only paid him a fleeting glance, before turning to savor the last few moments with his wife he would have for the next five years.

"Will you be there for me, in five years, when I..."

"Of course," assured Elizabeth.

Glancing back at Jack, who stood with his back to them on deck, visible through the open cabin door, Will said, "Whatever shore you've traveled to, I will find you. The sea answers any questions I care to know." He kissed her then. It was a gentle, loving brush of lips, but there was no passion, no fire. All that had been cut out, it seemed, placed in a chest in the hands of a sea goddess. It was good he had Calypso, Elizabeth thought. The way she...had Jack.

She managed to walk out to the deck with Will, and watched sadly as he made to cross to the Flying Dutchman. "Take care of her," he said quietly to Jack in passing. He couldn't have surprised the pirate more if he'd slapped him. Face skewed pensively, Jack watched him go. Will simply wasn't the same man they'd said farewell to, five years ago. But then again, why should he be? Humans are dynamic, constantly changing with experience and reaction to environment. It was one of their greatest mistakes to assume their natural state was static.

Giving a final wave of goodbye, Will returned to the Flying Dutchman. With tears in her eyes, Elizabeth watched her husband sail away again, after only a torturously short time spent with him. Her legs threatened to give out once again, but Jack was there this time, slipping an arm around her waist for support. "Is it just me, or did we get off scott free?" he asked absently, almost as though he were only speaking to himself.

A telltale flash of green light filled the sky, and she turned to lean against Jack's chest, at least at the moment, no longer interested in watching the horizon. Will didn't have the capacity to be intensely emotional about anything anymore, it seemed. He'd cared enough to come to the surface, ensure her safety...but still, he was nearly as cold as the waves he ruled. There was a place for her in his heart, but ultimately, her husband now belonged to the sea, and the goddess who commanded it.

And where did she belong? She had no answer. But feeling Jack's wiry arms around her, his breath dusting the top of her head, she had an inkling where to start her quest to find out.


	19. Epilogue

**Epilogue:**

Five years had passed for Elizabeth Turner, though the years were not evident upon her face. Agua de Vida had treated her well. However, she resembled a woman who had lived a full life, and adventure on the high seas in other ways. Jack Sparrow watched her at the helm of the Pearl, coins and shells from the Spanish Main all the way to India, and even beyond that, glittering in her hair. The evidence of visiting many other ports not only lay entwined in her hair, but entwined in her soul.

Steering was a privilege he'd allotted her only just recently. It had taken many years of practice, observation, and tutoring before he would let her go by her onesies with him precious Pearl. She had lost both of her own ships, after all. Well, mostly it was a teasing game. The past five years had been mostly that, really. Something of a pirate's paradise, for both of them.

As he'd always suspected, a pirate's life agreed with her, much more than that of a wife, or even a solo hermit on the bluff of Port Royal. Sometimes she slept in her hammock below, but sometimes in his cabin for nights on end. They could indulge in each other as they liked, and take time to themselves as people like them so truly needed. There were no promises, no rings, no requirements or demands. Only freedom as the both of them pleased.

Adventures abounded, the rum flowed freely and fortunes were made and lost. With eternity ahead of them, it didn't seem to matter. Elizabeth claimed to have taken up the life giving and preserving beverage for Will. He needed someone to greet him ashore, she said, even if she herself spent most of her time aboard a ship.

But Jack suspected her motives were much more personal. Curiosity. There was no humanly possible way she could see all she wanted to see in one lifetime, do all she wanted to do; it would take at least two or three.

The time would come soon for she and the whelp to meet ashore. Which shore had been left open, and as time played out, it seemed it would be somewhere near Goa. He mused on the subject with no jealousy. How could he be bitter, when the whelp had her one day every ten years, and he everyday he wanted in between?

Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. She had an uncanny ability of slipping through his fingers on the nights he felt he needed her most, unwittingly keeping that spark of forbidden longing alive between them. The only person who truly owned Elizabeth was Elizabeth. And that made the prospect of conquest all the more appealing. A treasure reached for, tasted, but never conquered. Never completely won. Never completely his. It was a strange relationship, an unconventional crossing of paths between two unapologetic people, but it suited them both right down to their boots.

After all, Jack had never been much a one for tradition, and it was a fetter Elizabeth happily found she preferred to live without. Most people would burn their time given on the earth like a candle at both ends, alight and fizzling, repetitive, mundane, and safe until the very end. But some souls are meant to burn for eternity, Jack reckoned, and he and Elizabeth were of the few.

There was more than one way to live forever in their strange and wonderful world. Agua de Vida preserved the body, but it was curiosity that fired the soul, and neither pirate's would be truly satiated until they'd tasted it all, explored every corner and finally caught that horizon. An impossible quest, says you? An exercise in futility, a bloody waste of energy? But the journey is nine tenths the point, mate. The beauty and pain, the _experience_. That is the true prize.

**Fin**

_**A/N: My dear readers, thank you, THANK YOU, for the overwhelmingly positive response to this fic! It's been a pleasure entertaining you. :) If you enjoy my writing, check out my profile page for news about my first original book!**_


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